Bittersweet Symphony
by Stealth Phoenix
Summary: What happens when the reclusive confectioner has to look beyond his own walls? Does a jaded young woman dare to take a chance with flights of fancy? Who will crash and burn first?
1. Chapter 1

_I don't own Willy Wonka, or anything else from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. All credit for character creation goes toward Roald Dahl. I don't own the Food Network either - all rights and distribution belong to them. Alton Brown belongs to himself, his parents and his wife and kids._

_The reading of this story may have the following side effects: laughing out loud, strange looks from passer-byers, shooting of liquids out the nostrils, uncontrollable snacking and a strange ambivalence toward bananas. - Stealth Phoenix_

**Bittersweet Symphony**

**Chapter 1**

_"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Food Network Confectionary Challenge, I'm your host, Alton Brown."_

_The camera moves over the multi-colored lights and eccentric architecture of downtown Las Vegas. A slow zoom into the entrance of the MGM Grand Hotel focuses in on a figure in dark brown, wire-rimmed glasses glint in the spotlight._

_" We have quite the lineup tonight with world's best confectionary artist in teams from six countries competing here in magical Las Vegas, Nevada. The challenge – create a spun sugar sculpture and three confectionary creations in the eight hours allotted for the competition."_

_There are multiple shots of past competitions, figures in white moving like dancers to bend light and color in magical ways and lingering shots of the fantastical creations they spawn._

_"The sculpture has to be at least 5 feet high and able to be transported to the judgment table without breaking." _

_Foostage of mythical creatures and abstract sculptures breaking and shattering at the feet of kitchen workers fill the multiple screens behind the competition area._

_"The confectionary creations – one chocolate, one fruit, and one original creation, has to be delivered to the judges at 2 hour intervals. Some of the best and the brightest are represented here tonight so let's meet the teams!"_

_"Team France – Jacques LeBeau and his team have competed in the past three competitions winning two golds and a silver respectively…"_

Veronica rubbed her hands together nervously; flop sweat was making her hands slippery. She swallowed the dry lump in her throat with effort and tried center her thoughts and focus on the upcoming work. Victor shot her an impatient glance, "Just focus on the prep work. Stay out from under my feet and we'll get along fine."

Victor Brahm, head of Team UK allowed Veronica there on sufferance alone – her work with spun sugar was without peer and he wanted to win. He wanted the limelight, the fame and the recognition that came with winning such a prestigious event. Never mind that his ambitions outreached his talent – he'd surround himself with those who could garner him the recognition he felt he so richly deserved.

The countdown was in seconds now and Veronica tensed at her station, she then forced herself to try and relax – this was an endurance race, like a marathon. It would do no good to start out like a shot only to peter out after a few hours. The buzzer sounded and suddenly the cool mantle of competence dropped over her shoulders – she grabbed the 5 lb bag of sugar and dumped it into the pot. She quickly calculated the right amount of water to the mixture and slid it onto the stove. Without pausing she turned and began to prepare the forms needed to mold the molten sugar into art.

The noise from the competition faded, as did her awareness from the two others bustling around her. Veronica was in her zone – her art. Victor and his assistant knew where her gifts lay and left her to it. They concentrated on making the confectionary chocolate and fruit creations to be judged in little less than 2 hours.

* * *

In a darkened room, hundreds of miles from the bright glitter of Las Vegas, a dark figure watched Food Network. It was late at night and he was the only one around – just as he'd planned. The long lanky body was curled into itself cushioned by the white beanbag chair in front to the large flat screen mounted at eye-level on the wall. His violet eyes followed the action, not just watching the ones talking on camera, but the workers scurrying in the background as well. It was his experience that the heads doing the talking were far less talented than the hands actually doing the work. It was one of these silent minority that he was searching for.

* * *

The rest of the day had been rough – high humidity and a heat wave had moved through the area and caused problems for the competition. The candy confections were finished, although Veronica had to bite her tongue until it bled as Victor continually minced through her work area, rearranged her pots and equipment and - the greatest blasphemy- diddled with the temperature of her molten candy.

He was flirting with the camera – as soon as the camera crews turned in their direction he'd shove her to another part of the small competition kitchen, or snarl for her to get supplies in the back area - anything to get her out the spotlight. Victor would then turn to the camera with a grin and playful banter. God, she was beginning to despise the man even more than she'd ever thought.

The sweat made her hair stick uncomfortably to the back of her neck and face, she had to ignore it though. Her extensive training prevented her from reaching to wipe it away and contaminate her hands or tools with human perspiration. It was the same discipline that helped her ignore the blistering heat and flesh-warping burns to craft the swoops and swirls of her project - Icarus in Flight. The monolith of sugar was a humaoid figure of white with silver wings reaching for the large globe of gold that reached the final five feet.

She was concerned about her material – the temperature fluctuations due to Victor's meddling and the additional humidity significantly destabilized the spun sugar. The material was not as strong as it could have been making the higher additions even more fragile. She was afraid that the whole thing could go at any time - and it was the same all through the hall.

Veronica was rightfully worried it turned out. She heard the gasp and crash from the booth next door. Their sculpture – of a Jackson Pollock-like figure in a swirl of colors, had broken under the strain and was even now under assault of the three sugar-spinners next door in the frantic attempts to salvage something for judgment.

Victor chuckled with malicious glee at the misfortune of the team next door. Veronica murmured to him "Don't get too cocky – we could be next." Victor whirled on her with fury, "Get back to work – we've 10 minutes to judgment and you're lagging." The sculpture was almost complete, but there was a major problem, any more weight or unnecessary heat and her work would be joining the three others that had shattered.

No stranger to this threat, she calmly took the fragile foam curl of the glassine waters to finish and with the steady hands of a surgeon leaned in with the blowtorch to fasten the last of the ornamentation. Suddenly there was a bump to her side and Victor was there grabbing the torch and the forceps from her hand and turning to smile at the camera crew that was coming toward them.

Veronica snapped, "Damn it Victor – not now…" But Victor was already in motion – his movements too quick and jerky for the delicate work. He was too busy hamming it up for the camera and speaking with Alton Brown.

"Just a minor touch-up and we're…" Victor grinned and applied the torch at a critical weight support point.

"Victor wait!" her eyes widened in fury and horror.

The piece snapped in his hand, and in slow motion she could see the crumbling of hours of hard labor. The gasp of the crowd and the almost musical chiming of crumbling sugar almost drowned out the flood of blood through her ears. She could only stand in horror beside the colorful shard mountain. The camera crew, having recorded the reactions of team UK moved on and Victor stared at the mess for a moment.

His dreams of winning the competition were shattered like the sculpture before him. His dreams of rubbing elbows with celebrities, of his own TV show, of groupies reaching to grab his hands for blessings swirled through his mind, only to vanish like the dreams they were. His rage, rising like the tide dimmed his eyesight in a blood-tinged haze as he turned to face the source of his humiliation.

"You are fired. No not just fired - banished! You will never work in this industry again – I'll see to it personally that you never find a job except as a fast-food fry cook. Get the hell out of my kitchen. I never want to see you again!"

Veronica stared at the man before her – her own blood thundering through her veins, face flushed with heat and humiliation. Tears threatened to rise, but she'd be damned if she'd give this bastard the satisfaction. She quickly whipped off the team jacket, leaving her in cargo pants and olive tee-shirt and threw it at his head. "Reap what you sow, asshole!" She turned to grab her bag and quickly slipped out of the room as the buzzer sounded. The competition was over.

* * *

"Interesting," said the man watching the slow crumble of the sculpture. Unknown to the Team Leader Victor Brahm, the camera had recorded his little temper tantrum. His eyes followed the exiled figure as it slipped out of the competition hall. He'd been watching her – her movements smooth and fluid, no hesitation. She'd made the correct adjustments for the environment and he had noted the only moments of discord had been when the Victor had interfered. It was the few moments of true innovation that really caught his eye – bending and twisting the hot liquid sugar more like making elaborate glassworkthan candy. Too bad the camera missed most of her work – bouncing from team to team didn't really give him a feel for what she was doing.

Using the remote control he rewound the video until he found a clear view of her face – the moment when the sculpture shattered. She was very pale –gray almost, hair somewhere between light brown and red, hazel eyes burning – all clashing with the horrible pink of the team uniform. Her lips were pinched, but anger, not horror, was the prominent expression. So, she'd know what Victor's bungling was about to bring - she was knowledgeable.

The man with the violet eyes nodded – a strong contender. With some background checks, he may have to track this one down.


	2. Chapter 2

_I don't own Willy Wonka, or anything else from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. All credit for character creation goes toward Roald Dahl. __The reading of this story may have the following side effects: laughing out loud, strange looks from passer-byers, shooting of liquids out the nostrils, uncontrollable snacking and a strange ambivalence toward bananas. - Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 2**

Victor glided up and down the sparkling stainless steel tables, calmly studying the efforts of the culinary students. Each student had paid 2,500 for the honor of studying with the man who dazzled audiences and catered to the stars - peddling his eatable confectionary creations. It was rumored that he'd made transparent sugar angels for TomKat's wedding. Dolce La Vita was the elite catering center for the Los Angeles area.

"Very good," he murmured to one, glancing down her top. _Very nice_ he thought to himself.

He walked around, carefully inspecting each effort – offering the occasional word or comment for improvement. Little did these students know that their creations would be offered up to his customers as his own work a few hours after they had departed.

_A real-world learning experience_ Victor told himself.

He'd done this for more than two years, the few that had confronted him with threats of going to the police or media soon found themselves out of a job, rumors of scandal following them wherever they attempted to go. Once or twice, he mentioned a particularly tenacious complainant to some close friends who happen to find said complainant in alone in a dark alley and "took care" of things for their friend Victor.

Victor Brahm was not a forgiving man – when his spite was invoked, he would stop at nothing to see that his target was completely and utterly destroyed. Unfortunately, he was also a charming man who hid his ire well. Things just seemed to _happen_ to those who've crossed him and Victor what the first to offer up a horrified exclamations and sympathy to the injured party.

Victor sat at his rarely used desk in the back of his bakery. He glanced through his e-mails and was pleased to note that requests for his creation spanned at least the next six months, with more flowing in for the next year. He'd worked hard to ensure that the blame for the fiasco that was the confectionary competition landed on the responsible party – the lowest on the totem pole. Victor smirked to himself while typing out a message to a catering acquaintance. A few words here, a free sample of work for someone's exclusive cocktail party, and a suggestion there – and like magic no one wanted anything to do with Veronica Carmichael.

He amused himself with thoughts of her subjugation as he filled out supply request forms, reviewed inventory and the other minutia that went with the running of a business. He was puzzling over a sticky note from his supplier with something that said either "caramel" or "can melt" or even the outside possibility of "camel" when the phone rang.

"Dolce la Vita, this is Victor" he muttered into the phone as he attempted to get the bloody thing off his fingers.

"I beg your pardon? Were you mumbling?" asked the rich tenor voice on the other end of the line.

"May I help you?" enunciated Victor, rolling his eyes and finally divesting himself of the sticky note.

"I'm trying to reach a Mr. Victor Brahm."

"This is he." _Will this guy get to the point anytime soon?_

"Mr. Brahm, I'm trying to track down a colleague of yours who competed with you at the Food Network Confectionary Challenge in Las Vegas in August."

Victor frowned at the mention of the competition. "There were a lot of people there. Depends on who you might be looking for Mr…"

Ignoring the question the voice smoothly continued, "A young woman, perhaps late 20's to early 30's, reddish brown hair – worked almost exclusively on the spun sugar..."

"I'm sorry, I don't know who you're talking about. We had someone who fit that description a few years ago, but they've moved on to New Mexico." Victor wasn't about to talk about to talk about Veronica to anyone unless it was a creditor.

"Really? My own sources tracked one Ms. Veronica Carmichael to your business as late as August of this year."

Victor froze. Whoever this was had managed to slip the net of references he relied on to refer business to him.

He sighed heavily and decided to spin this inquiry to his favor, "I'm sorry, I really didn't want to do this – Yes, I do know of a Veronica Carmichael, but she was let go under unfavorable circumstances."

"What kind of unfavorable circumstances?"

"Look, Mr…"?

"Wo…Nakow."

"Wonakow?"

"No, Nakow – it's…um…Russian."

"Mr. Nakow – Ms. Carmichael was let go for several reasons, she had a horrible work ethic – never showing up on time or completing her projects on schedule; she refused to follow basic unsanitary guidelines, and she let her personal life interfere with work." Victor grinned to himself – taking malicious glee in dragging Veronica's name through the mud.

"Really? What kind of personal problems?" asked Mr. Nakow

_She wouldn't sleep with me_, Victor thought to himself. "She was constantly leaving work without notice – we all assumed it had something to do with her boyfriend."

"Interesting. Still, I would like to speak with her. Would you happen to have a number?"

Victor frowned at this. No one up to this point has persisted in looking for the pest. "Sorry – I don't. If you have business for her, we might be able to assist…"

"No thank you." And with that, Mr. Nakow hung up.

"Loser," Victor muttered and slammed the phone back into the cradle. His former good mood was gone – reminded once again of the humiliating defeat two months prior.

* * *

On the other end of the line – the headset was set once again into the antique mahogany and brass phone that sat on the lavish desk. The phone itself was almost lost in the shuffle of various desk toys, one-a-day calendars and post-it notes. A purple latex clad hand absently reached out to the pencil holder that inexplicably was jammed with candy canes and selected one.

His violet eyes narrowed in thought as he unwrapped the treat and nibbled on the end. This was hardly an unexpected response – the man's pride had been wounded and the footage of his response during the competition was proof enough that he harbored ill-intent toward Ms. Carmichael.

He studied his ceiling with the peppermint candy swirl as he spun in his chair. Tracking her down had been difficult, and finding someone who wanted to talk about her without crossing Mr. Brahm was even tougher.

He spun faster.

A few had spoken up in her favor though, and the other workers he had singled out during the competition all agreed that she was the most skilled subject expert…

…besides himself of course.

Unfortunately, time was finite and his even more so. It would be impossible for him to dedicate the time and effort for this delicate project – and tasking it to his workers would be the height of rudeness. No, finding someone else outside the factory to maintain secrecy was critical.

He set the candy down and stood up with new determination – and immediately grabbed the desk as the world spun around him. It looks like it was time to gird his loins for going out into the world for a visit.

Then he wondered how one girded one's loins without injury.

Sounded painful…

… and unhygienic.


	3. Chapter 3

_Again - I own nothing, make a profit from nothing and take credit only for what is set on the page. Roald Dahl, Tim Burton and Johnny Depp are the true geniuses here. - Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 3**

Veronica left the smoked glass and concrete corporate structure behind her. She used far more force on the poor revolving door than necessary – much to the chagrin of the man is the suit behind her. The door whipped around far too quickly and although he jumped out of the way with rabbit-like reflexes his briefcase was not so fortunate. The door slammed into the briefcase knocked it into the doorframe and the revolving door came to an abrupt stop. The man trapped inside slammed into the glass and bounced to the floor.

Veronica missed this comedy of errors – she was far too busy wiping the tears of frustration from her eyes and using slow, steady breathing to try and remove the lump from the back of her throat.

She stalked with stiff legs to her old teal Geo Metro parked in the garage across the street. Using carefully-controlled deliberate movements she popped the hatchback and carefully set the small black satchel inside. Then slammed the door shut with a high pitched whimper of repressed rage. The then threw herself into the driver's seat and curled around the steering wheel and rested her head in her hands. Finally, she let the tears come, whimpers of distress escaping her throat unnoticed.

She had approached the Nutricorps Food Company with her creations in the desperate hope of making a contact for making her candy decorations – they already worked with others. Mrs. Jones Fudges, individually wrapped, that seemed to dot the counters at every gas station in a three state area. There were Johnny Appleseed Candy Apples that sat in the quick-grab lunch areas in a chain of grocery stores.

However, when it came to her eatable candy glass ornaments – like delicate bubbles of sugar that reflected the light in pearlescent colors – they laughed and had metaphorically patted her on the head. "No market interest at this time," the overweight, balding Mr. Smythwik had said in his condescending manner - and actually had the nerve to wink at her.

The son-of-a bitch had even mentioned that she should be trying craft stores for her products – as if they were just another useless knick-knack rather than an eatable treat. Never mind that Christmas was coming up and they would be perfect for Christmas trees. Decorations you never had to pack and could change out every year – a renewable market.

Veronica slowly pulled herself together and tiredly turned the key. Time to head home and attempt another tact to try and pull herself out of this slump to make rent.

* * *

The velvet jacket clad man returned to his cluttered desk once more with a slow step. Curiosity about "girding" assuaged thanks to a quick trip to the library, he was mildly horrified at what the term actually meant. He sat carefully in the swivel chair.

No wonder warriors of old were so willing to kill anyone who'd cross them. He would have too if that had inflicted upon him.

He was frozen for a moment, eyes distant with various images parading in his mind. Each more horrifying than the last.

"Aaaaarrgh!" he muttered to himself.

He was just imagining an alternate universe scene of _Braveheart_ with himself in the Mel Gibson role, his workers as the generic Scottish warriors in plaid – in horribly clashing colors – himself in a plum kilt smeared with blueberry jelly facing screaming hoards of his competitors with sharpened Jolly Rancher swords - they looking rather unconvincing in chain mail armor.

"You can steal my recipes – but you can never take my imagination!" He could hear himself screaming.

"Pardon?"

He was jerked quite abruptly back to reality and turned to face his apprentice. "Charlie!"

"Another flashback?" inquired the dark-haired pre-teen lounging in the doorway of his office. He strolled into the cluttered area, avoiding the randomly placed furniture with the ease of long practice and took a seat in the burgundy wingback chair before the desk.

Willy Wonka – chocolatire extraordinaire, third wealthiest man in the world according to _Forbes_, and best-dressed according to _Fangoria _– shuddered in horror.

"No! Thank God! Just stuck on a train of thought that didn't have the decency to derail at the right time."

"I just came by to see how things were progressing with the search." Charlie studied his mentor with serious eyes. "I know it's difficult from here inside the factory – is there anything I can do to help?"

Willy smiled at the youth. It had been three years since Charlie Bucket and his family had entered his life. Their relationship had blossomed with the years. Charlie's pragmatism and ability to look at problems from different angles made Willy feel like Charlie was the more mature of the pair. It sometimes surprised him to look over to his partner who would someday take over the factory and see the teen Charlie was rather than the man he was sure to grow into.

"Not this time, Kiddo. This is something I have to do myself. I haven't gotten to the stage of having to leave to talk to anyone yet."

He began to dig through the paperwork on his desk and managed to unearth the phone. Hmm… it looked like the lowest layers of paperwork were beginning to mulch.

"Care to be a fly on the wall of the one I've managed to track down?" He glanced at Charlie.

"Which one is it? The man in Spain or the gal from Food Network?"

"Food Network." Willy studied the post-it stuck to a deep magenta folder with purple paper.

"Sure – if you don't mind?"

Willy waved his hand, "Not at all – after all, you're my heir. I've no secrets from you."

He began to dial the number…

* * *

The phone was ringing. Veronica glanced at it from her perch on the ladder. She had decided to put the ornaments that no one seemed to want to good use. Fishing line and thumb tack applied, she now had a virtual galaxy of celestial spheres hanging from her apartment ceiling. Considering that she lived above an industrial drafting shop – she knew the landlord wouldn't mind the holes in the plaster.

She carefully placed the globes down and shuffled to grab the handset. "Carmichael Productions – this is Veronica, may I help you?"

A light tenor voice from the other end answered, "Yes, My name's Willy Wonka – and I'm looking for someone to pull my Laffy Taffy."

She rolled her eyes, "Spencer. How are you doing this evening?"

Her brother's partner laughed, "Swell darling. We wanted to call to find out how the Nutricorps interview went. Can we expect a lavish celebration dinner?"

She sighed and irritably pushed tendrils of hair back into the messy bun, "Break out the Ramen Noodles – let the feast commence."

She heard the sigh and a soft "Sorry darling," before there was the sound of the phone changing hands and a new deeper voice came on "Ronnie – I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"Another rejection before I even had a chance to open the bloody presentation box. This one was a "not right for the market" before he winked at me." She said sliding down the wall next to the phone to sit on the unfinished wooden floor.

"Winked? Did you threaten to sue the bastard for sexual harassment?" Reginald Carmichael said, still fiercely protective of his sister's honor regardless of how much time passed.

"Reggie – you can't sue based on a wink."

"You can bloody well try!"

"No, I couldn't. I hadn't a leg to stand on. Besides, I was doing my best to try and not do my best Hulk impersonation. '_You wouldn't like me when I'm angry'_."

"Well – evisceration aside, Spencer and myself cheerfully volunteer to go down to wherever this bloke lives and beat him into a pulp. Then we'll do it again. And then we'll mock him ruthlessly and make fun of the way he dresses until he runs away crying like a little girl."

Partially cheered up from the offer of metaphorical beatings of the source of her current frustrations, Veronica teased, "Actually, I know girls who could take you in a fight Reggie."

"Besides that."

"Not right now, Love. I appreciate the offer and all and will take the rain check. "

Reggie suddenly quieted and cleared his throat nervously, "Ronnie, darling. There was actually another purpose to calling you tonight."

She was suddenly tense and alert again. "What's the matter? Are you two alright?"

"Oh yes! Absolutely fine - actually – Spencer, love, why don't you tell her?"

There was another muffle as the phone changed hands. "Veronica Carmichel, as the only living relative that will actually talk to us and supports our partnership, do I have your permission to take your brother's hand in marriage?"

She grinned in delight – her mood suddenly lightened like the sun breaking from behind the storm.

"Of course! It's about time you bloody well made an honest man of my brother. No one else seems to be up to the job of making him presentable for civilized society. Of course, I'm sorry to tell you in case you missed the blatant hints elsewhere, but gay marriage is illegal here. Are you planning a quick trip to the colonies?"

"Not really – but it's really a marriage of the heart rather than society. We don't care about the legal aspect and will take care of that bit when the opportunity presents itself. So, we're having a bonding ceremony and want to have a small reception after." Spencer's joy was apparent over the phone. It was a big step for the both of them, never mind the fact that they had been living together for almost five years now.

"Sounds wonderful! Let me know the details and I'll be delighted to contribute to the cause by making the biggest, most flaming cake there will ever be," laughed Veronica.

"We shall. Wait! Here's your brother again"

The phone changed hands, this there was a delay as it was dropped to the floor and muffled laughter followed and sounded like a quick kiss. "Ronnie? Thank you! We wanted you to be a part of this. You're all I have left and I needed to share this."

"Your only family member related by blood. You've done an admirable job of making your own family that you chose rather than got stuck with," she felt her mood start to plummet again and had to get away. "Listen Reggie. Give my love to Spencer, I've got to go."

"Right, love. We'll talk later."

"Love you!"

"You too, kiddo!"

She hung up the phone with shaking hands and sat for a moment on the floor staring at the ductwork exposed above her head. Loneliness crashed down on her once more and shook with the intensity of it. Reggie was so lucky to have Spencer. It was lovely to see them happy. However, it just brought home again how damaged she was and would probably never have the same opportunity to find love.

She studied the scars on her hands. They weren't the only ones on her body, but it was the most apparent – the most dramatic. She could ignore them most of the time – no function was impaired. But at times like this when the world centered in on cut off she was from her family and any other adults other than her brother and their crazy friends – she couldn't ignore it anymore.

The phone rang again, startling her from her morbid thoughts – she sighed and already knew who it was.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Is Veronica Carmichael there?"

"Speaking."

"Yes, my name's Willy Wonka…"

"No – I'm not going you pull your Laffy Taffy." She sighed and hung up.

Stupid Spencer.

* * *

The stunned candy magnate stared at the phone in his hand.

"What happened?"

"She said she wasn't going to pull my Laffy Taffy and hung up."

Charlie laughed until he fell out of the chair.

Willy hung up the phone and rolled his eyes at his apprentice, now hiccupping at random intervals along with grasping his side and attempting to clear the tears from his eyes.

"You know, you're not supposed to even know what that means beyond the obvious. Don't let your mother know or she'll kill me.

"Sorry," Charlie sputtered and actually managed to get a deep breath to regain himself before glancing sidelong at the chocolatier and started off again.

"I guess I'll have to try again at another time." Willy reclined behind the desk and set his pointy-tipped boots on the desktop to study the ceiling further and tried to ignore the hysterics of his heir.

Persistance was, after all, the key to success.


	4. Chapter 4

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. I wouldn't mind a few Oompa Loompas though to help out around the house in exchange for obscene amounts of Nutella though. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 4**

The phone rang sporadically over the course of the next month.

When it wasn't creditors threatening her with financial ruin, it was the electric company calling her one final time to let her know her power was going to be cut off. Good thing the weather was still warm and she had always preferred candles over florescent lights. It wasn't going to be a trial for now – except for showering in the morning with brutally cold water.

The last straw was selling her car to try and pay for groceries and rent. The car had been a high school graduation gift. It was the last gift of love from her parents before Reggie had come out of the closet. Her parents had cut off contact with him in protest – and she had returned the favor out of love and loyalty for her brother and what she felt was right. The last terse exchange with her parents had been seven years prior.

Selling the car had hurt since it was the last reminder she had of when her parents used to love each of them – when they were a family.

Speaking of hurting…

There was Spencer.

The urge to strangle him was growing exponentially. He kept calling, every three days on the average, with some new Willy Wonka joke.

"Hey! Will you swizzle my Twizzler?"

That was the last one. She wasn't going to take it anymore. His corny messages on the machine were ticking her off, and the hesitant voice he used when she picked up was annoying. When she got those, she usually hung up before he could get started. No use encouraging him by being an audience.

Although, there was something "off" about the voice that he used when she picked up rather than let it go to the machine. It was somehow quieter, more hesitant, than Spencer usually was. She decided to attribute it to superior acting skills.

Veronica's phone rang once again. Spencer - right on schedule. Just in case of the outlandish possibility that it wasn't though - she screwed on her most professional voice.

"Carmichael Productions. Veronica speaking."

"Ms. Carmichael. Good afternoon! How are you today?" The light tenor that had plagued her spoke.

She sighed mentally and decided to play along. "I'm fine. Yourself?"

There was a slight hesitation – as if surprised to have made it this far, "Splendiferous!"

She rolled her eyes at the expression. Spencer had been practicing, "Excellent. What can I do for you today?"

I'm looking for a talented candy artist and you were referred by several people."

Hmmm… this was a new tact – it even sounded promising. Maybe this was a legitimate job and not Spencer jerking her around.

"I'm with Wonka Inc. and…"

Her hopes and expectations plummeted and she broke in, "Jesus Spencer! Quit it already! I know your voice and this joke has gone far enough."

"Excuse me?"

She was truly angry now, "Spencer – Fact One: Wonka hasn't looked beyond his own gates for anything other than his apprentice for 15 years. Having him look for someone like me is ridiculous."

"N- n-now wait just a minute…" he sputtered.

She ruthlessly continued, "Two: Why look for someone like me when the man is rumored to be Merlin of the Candyland set? It's a superfluous set of skills."

"Actually…"

"Finally Three: After two and a half months of looking for work – why should the world's greatest chocolatier be calling me at home when I'm flat on my ass broke, no electricity and getting ready to lose my apartment?" Tears were streaming down her face now and her voice throbbed with emotion.

There was silence at the other end of the line and she sniffed juicily into the phone.

"Oh, that was disgusting," He said faintly.

Drained, she rubbed one hand over her face.

"Spencer. I love you, and you're going to make my brother a very happy man. However, don't call here again asking me to sit on your peppermint stick; lick your lollipop, or mash your marshmallows. I'm having troubles right now and the only prospect I have is teaching a bloody cake decorating class to raw amateurs at the YMCA. Harassing me further will lead me to putting a permanent twist in your toffee, if you catch my drift."

"Who's S…"he tried to jump in.

"I'll talk to you tonight. Give my love to Reggie."

She hung up the phone over the indignant squawk.

Enough was really enough.

Veronica sadly gathered her messenger bag and prepared to ride her bike to the YMCA to teach her class.

Willy Wonka held the phone to his ear lost in thought until the dial tone shattered his concentration. He hastily dropped the phone to the cradle to eliminate the annoying noise.

He'd been sacrificing precious time in the inventing room for this project. Charlie was refining the candy kites they had created jointly. The problems with weight to lift ratio had been solved, it was just a matter of determining the scale now – it was something Charlie could do on his own while Willy pursued the hiring of Ms. Carmichael. At first it was a search for a trustworthy artist for his project, but now it was starting to look like they needed each other.

Veronica Carmichael was at the end of her rope. That much was obvious. He'd thought her crazy for persistently hanging up on him until just now. Her inadvertent explanation really clarified things - she was working under the impression that he was a crank caller of someone she obviously knew. He was willing to excuse the rudeness of multiple hang-ups under those circumstances.

She was also circling the drain professionally too, thanks to the extensive networking and backstabbing of Victor Brahm. Willy frowned – there was a bad egg if he'd ever seen one.

Willy knew what kind of despair she was going through – he had felt similar when forced to close his factory due to corporate espionage.

Emboldened by that thought, he considered further. If some sort of fairy godmother could have shown up during those dark times to let him know that the future wasn't as bleak as it appeared at that moment, would he have taken that opportunity?

Without a doubt.

So would he be willing to be that fairy godmother for someone else?

If they would be willing to take that chance to believe in him.

Willy Wonka came to a slow personal realization. This was a cause he wanted to undertake – the redemption of a dream for the sake of the one he nearly lost himself at his darkest hour. If he could save someone from that kind of spiritual death – it was his obligation to do so.

He jumped to his feet, snatching his top hat off the top of his desk and grabbed the Nerds cane from its umbrella stand.

Willy hurried to the administrative offices. There was no way that Veronica Carmichael would believe him over the phone – he knew that now. He would have to make a personal appearance.

"Doris! I need the address and GPS coordinates for the Birmingham YMCA. I'm on a mission."

The unflappable Oompa Loompa secretary simply raised an eyebrow at the request. Nimble fingers danced over the keyboard pulling up the requested information.

"Oh, let Charlie and the Buckets know I won't be able to join them for dinner tonight."

"I'm going out."

"Finally, make sure the icing is cold, otherwise you won't be able to shape it or place it on your cake."

Veronica stared at the group of five people with dead eyes. Cake decorating classes at the local YMCA – this is what mind-numbing depths she had sunk to. Two senior citizens, one earnest looking high school student and two heavy women in heavy makeup stared up at her with glazed eyes. She finished up the buttercream rose and deftly set it on the cake.

She had given up most of her hope. Time to face facts - it was three months after the competition and not a single call for a new project, not a single returned message from business associates she'd once almost call friends. It was if the world she'd once lived and worked simply forgot that she existed.

Jerking her attention from her bleak thoughts, she regarded the group before her. No potential clients here – most were here for learning how to write a name on a sheet cake. None showed the interest in anything more except the high school student – and she was bouncing with the six "efforts" she'd squeezed out earlier.

"Thank you very much ladies, I think your efforts have turned out beautifully. Please let me know if you have any questions." She forced the smile to her lips and started to clean up the countertop. The group climbed to their feet, chatting among themselves and carefully took their decorating efforts home to be enjoyed by their families.

_Family. Crap_. Veronica couldn't repress the grimace at the thought. Reggie and Spencer were in the throes of wedding fever. They were still at the stage where cartoon birds and hearts should be chirping and flying around their heads. Her problems and reality had no place with them right now.

She'd promised to make the cake, but with the state of her finances, even with the classes she taught, there wouldn't be enough for supplies and food. She quickly washed the sticky bowls of icing and wiped down the countertop with scarred hands, an appropriate reminder of her soon-to-be-past life – no one worked with sugar for long without getting burned. _In more ways than one…_

Emotional stress finally took its toll. That particular thought woke the monster in her mind – the past trauma that had hurt her and sought to hurt her again. No, she thought. I'm not letting this affect me again. The jeering, leering face faded back into her mind and she mentally locked and bolted the door again.

The flashback and panic attack took more energy than she'd thought as her knees wobbled and threatened to fold. She had been skipping lunch for weeks, trying to make the money last longer and the sub-standard diet of Ramen noodles weren't helping. For a moment she felt dizzy and tired and she tried to push her weakness away with what energy she had left.

"Excuse me?"

The voice startled her badly and Veronica jumped back, eyes wide with fright. She quickly composed herself and saw the man standing by the door. "Yes? Are you here for the cake decorating class? I'm sorry, you just missed it."

The man, somewhat flamboyantly dressed entered the room. He wore a back top hat with a violet striped band, plum frock coat with dark paisley shirt, black vest and slacks and large dark goggle sunglasses covered his eyes. Thin hands in black latex gloves twisted a cane filled with small candies inside. Only then did she notice the pale complexion and mahogany hair in an old-fashioned bob. "N-no. Not here for the class," He said in a soft tenor. The voice sounded familiar…

Veronica could see that the man was ill at ease, "Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

The man seemed to gather himself a bit more and tilted his head in an inquiring manner, "Actually, there is. I've been searching for someone who works with spun sugar."

Veronica felt the world freeze for a moment.

He could still be a crony of Spencer's - taking revenge for verbally filleting him over the phone. Although she had her serious doubts that Spencer could be that cruel or malicious. He'd mock your wardrobe, and rearrange your kitchen cabinets, but not this. Confusion clouded her mind.

"Who sent you?" she asked, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice – _no mustn't get my hopes up_.

Who was this man?

After all this time, could this the project she'd been waiting for?

The man giggled – actually giggled like a child. "No one sent me. Your former associate Victor Brahm has tried admirably to steer anyone looking for you or your work in the wrong direction. Fortunately, I have better resources at my disposal."

She felt the flush of humiliation at the news of why no one had bothered to contact her for work after the fiasco. Victor, using his name and contacts to ruin her reputation was something she had thought of, but passed off as too paranoid for truth. _Looks like the paranoid are sometimes right._

The man twirled his cane for a moment, seeing her digest his words. "I however, saw what happened during that Food Network Confectionary Competition. You were not to blame for that idiot's mistake and was impressed with what you managed to do."

"What I managed to do? I managed to get myself fired and blacklisted by one of the most influential candy artisans out there." Tired beyond the ability to think, Veronica sighed and grabbed her jacket preparing to leave.

Still, work was work – and at this point, she really couldn't be picky. "I might be able to help, what kind of project are you looking for?" she came closer to the man and found that he loomed over her by a few inches. The hat added to the intimidation factor.

The eyes behind the goggles fastened on hers. "I'm looking for someone – highly creative – to create a special gift to be presented the week before Christmas - a unique creation celebrating a special long-term working relationship."

Bells rang in her head, "Are you the gentleman who kept calling me…"

"…And getting hung up on." The man smiled – a brittle smile that seemed all too plastic.

She felt the blush creep up her cheeks – sheer embarrassment thundering through her veins. She wanted to tuck her tail between her legs and slink away.

"I am so sorry!" She apologized profusely. She hid her face in her hands, trying to hide how red her face was.

"It's alright – I quite understand. You were kind enough to tell me earlier today when I called."

This time she looked at him in shock, "Today? You mean that was you…" Veronica was sure that this was a new level of hell.

"I guess this blows any notion of professional behavior out of the water," she whispered in a low voice, head hung in shame. "I'm sure Mr. Wonka wouldn't be interested in hiring someone with so much personal baggage for such an important project."

"Mr. Wonka is very interested in giving you a chance to prove that you are the right person for the job. "

Veronica's head snapped up, her hazel eyes lit with hope, "Really?"

"Really. I can tell you that he thinks that you deserve a chance, and that he has the highest faith in your abilities," The man's smile seemed a little more genuine this time and although she couldn't see his eyes, she sensed a bit more warmth to his tone.

She smiled back and straightened her shoulders and for the first time since the Confectionary Competition, stood straight and tall – like a knight challenged by his monarch. "Then, I would be honored to undertake whatever test Mr. Wonka would care to put before me."

The man strode to the small YMCA demonstration kitchen area and gestured to the remaining cake supplies on the counter. "Okay-dokey. You have 30 minutes to make me something out of the stuff here."

Glancing at the counter and the ingredients, Veronica grinned – this would be easy. "Certainly – would you care to take a seat?"

He glanced uneasily at the seats – they were rather grimy. "Uh…no thanks. I'd rather watch closer if you don't mind."

She inclined her head regally, "Of course." She'd worked in tighter quarters in Victor's kitchen. If she could put up with him, she could put up with anything.

One thing…

"So you mind if I put on some music while I work?" she asked, pausing in her motions.

"Please do!"

"Thank you," she quickly grabbed her IPod and set up the small, but powerful speakers on the desk in the front row to keep it clear of the cook area.

The man moved aside to the front of the counter as the heavy bass beat of Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation" came on.

He pulled out an old fashioned chain watch out of his vest pocket. He glanced at it and said, "Begin."

The man in the plum coat studied Veronica as she virtually danced her way through the test. Snapping on virtually identical purple latex gloves, she pirouetted through the kitchen. Quick graceful hands molded the marzipan set on the counter. Within minutes a dozen little animals were crafted, painted with food dye and set to dry.

It was during, "Crazy" by Gnarles Barkley that he recognized what she was making. The animals were quickly spitted on wooden skewers and placed on a flat round platform of cake that had been attached to a lazy susan. A similar piece with a rounded dome top was placed on top and gently pressed into the skews holding them in place. Both were quickly and creatively decorated with scenes from Noah's ark around the edges. It was an outstanding example of improvised decorating

The merry-go-round of paired animals looked as if they were bounding in a parade – each lovingly decorated and the sophistication of the minimally applied color was startling. Ms. Carmichael was indeed a talented artist

She was actually humming along with the music when she finished – just short of the time allotted.

Veronica was suddenly nervous. She removed the gloves and shot them into the garbage can and turned to wash her hands. "This really isn't my medium – I work primarily with sugar. But you did specify to work with what was here."

"Indeed I did. Mr. Wonka is quite impressed. He likes what you've done by using the materials at hand – using the lazy susan was a nice touch." He reached out to spin the completed carousel.

Veronica felt like she had missed something, "Excuse me? How do you know what Willy Wonka thinks?

He reached up to remove the goggles and study her work closer with brilliant violet eyes.

"Why, because I am Willy Wonka."

He looked up at her gobsmacked expression with a smirk of pure satisfaction.

"I'd be in real trouble if I couldn't read my own mind."


	5. Chapter 5

_

* * *

_

I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. I wouldn't mind a few Oompa Loompas though to help out around the house in exchange for obscene amounts of Nutella though. – Stealth Phoenix

**Chapter 5**

Veronica goggled at the chocolatier, "That's impossible."

Willy Wonka straightened from his examination of the candy carousel. "No it's not. I've been me for a long time – I should know – I know me personally."

She forced her stunned mind into action, "Hang on. You were 19 when you opened your shop, ran it for two years before opening the factory, closed the factory after three years and then were gone for like – 15 years was it? Yes. Then you named Charlie Bucket your heir three years ago – making you, what…41?"

He looked mildly perturbed at the reference to his age, "I always thought age was more of a state of mind, really."

Shock rendered her inner censor blind, deaf and dumb, "It must work because you're HOT!"

His eyes widened at the comment and a delicate pink flush colored his cheeks. He lifted his hand to gently stroke the hair from his warm cheeks, "Um…yes...Thank you. I do try to moisturize."

Her mind quickly caught up with what had just escaped her mouth and she flushed the deepest crimson ever accomplished to date. "…I mean, you looked more like a well preserved mid-twenty something…excuse me for a moment."

Willy said nothing as she returned to her original workplace at the counter, placed both palms flat on top, bent from the waist and proceeded to bang her head repeatedly into the Formica countertop. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." She muttered with each bang.

Mildly alarmed by the act of self-violence said, "All flattery aside – you've passed my test. Are you interested in undertaking a project? I warn you, I am insisting on the most stringent security measures to ensure full confidentiality."

Veronica paused and looked up. There was a bright red spot on her forehead just above her eyes. The self-abasement seemed to have done the job banishing her embarrassment, she could think again.

"Frankly Mr. Wonka, I would like to know a bit more about what I'm getting into before I agree to anything, "she said.

Willy paused and contemplated for a moment. "I don't feel comfortable discussing it here. Feel up for a ride?"

"I rode a bicycle here. Would it fit in the trunk of your car?" Veronica said worriedly, not willing to abandon her last means of transportation.

He pulled the goggles from his pocket and set them back onto his face. It obscured his expression.

"Oh, I don't think it'll have any problems fitting in my vehicle."

* * *

She was puzzled by his request to grab her bike and head for the roof of the YMCA. She ignored the strange looks as she wheeled the bike into the stairwell and started the long process of hauling it up to the roof. Mr. Wonka was well known for his eccentricities – so at this point, no request would really puzzle her.

Although with the "hotness" comment still haunting her, she was hoping to overcome her persistent unintended candid comments and hopefully return to a level of professionalism that she was currently lacking.

Stopping on the landing on the second floor with another two ahead, she paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow.

She gave some thoughts to Victor and his sinister machinations – the bastard. She had known that he was a pig before she was approached for the confectionary competition. Veronica had heard rumors of him pressing his attention on women workers, but figured that her self-protective meek shell would ensure that his attention wouldn't wander in her direction.

However, either her defenses weren't as strong as she hoped or he was just that desperate, but he began hitting on her during rehearsals and draft meetings. She gracefully turned his attention to other topics as soon as he approached her, but apparently to Victor, her inability to fall blindly, madly in love with him was annoying.

She tugged the bike to the next landing – Christ, maybe she should consider roller skates, they were SO much easier to lug around.

The competition was the last straw – he couldn't use her talent and she wouldn't fall into bed with him, Victor had decided to ruin her reputation as revenge. How high school petty could you get?

She grunted as she reached the top and had to do some fancy maneuvering with one leg to open the door and using her arms to push the recalcitrant bike through the door, untangling the handlebars from her messenger bag slung around her body as she went.

Veronica kicked down the stand and let it rest on its own, then sat on the top step to catch her breath before heading outside where Mr. Wonka was waiting.

Mr. Wonka - now there was an enigma. Reggie absolutely adored his fashion sense and had several sharp suits in a similar style. There were no outstanding pictures of the man, so how was she supposed to know what he looked like except at a distance. She had made a complete dunce of herself.

He seemed willing to forgive for now, that was the most important thing. She needed this work badly and knew that this could be a last chance. Veronica had decided that she couldn't turn down the work regardless of whatever "security" measures Mr. Wonka decided to inflict – but asking questions now was critical. No use agreeing to the impossible – with what little she knew. (1) that it was something to do with confectionary sugar art; (2) She had less than a month and a half deadline; and (3) it was a gift.

She added a fourth thing that she knew – it had to be something that he himself couldn't do.

With that thought bolstering her spirits, she pushed herself to her feet, dusted off her hands and headed outside with the bike.

* * *

Willy Wonka studied the view from the top of the building. It had been a school at one point, so the remains of a basketball court and gently used playground equipment were still evident. The weather was still unseasonably warm for the first week on November, but the scent of dying leaves on the wind indicated that colder weather would be there soon.

Veronica Carmichael was a bundle of contradictions. Professional one moment then charmingly flustered the next. Aesthetically, she was attractive to the his eyes. But, she was thinner than he remembered from the competition – almost boney. Considering her loss of fortune however, that was easily explainable.

He heard the door open behind him and turned to watch her maneuver the bulky bike through the narrow roof entrance. Her light auburn hair was in a messy bun with strands gleefully escaping, the short army jacket and olive cargo pants made her seem more like a militant college student than a professional confectioner. The black tee shirt with a smiley face puckered with its tongue sticking out provided a irreverent contrast.

The black messenger bag became entangled in the handlebars again and she balanced on one leg – the other holding the door open, one hand guiding the bike while the other moved the bag strap away from the brake of the bike.

She had called him "hot." How was someone supposed to deal with that? Especially someone who had been out of society for more than a decade. Willy felt that he had made great strides in rejoining the human race in the past three years since Charlie and his family had joined him, but he was still missing a lot of ...oh what was a good word…context. He didn't have a common frame of reference to communicate from.

Willy sighed as she started to approach him.

Candy would have to be a common frame of reference for now.

* * *

"Are you afraid of heights?" he called to her.

She paused and looked at him, her hazel green eyes measuring his level of sincerity. "Not really. Why?"

He started to walk forward…

…only to walk into the corner of something nearly invisible to the eye and spin in almost a complete circle. He clutched his hat and cane with one hand while rubbing his shoulder with a pained expression

"Ow."

Veronica could see edges of something - like a line in the air slightly out of phase with the rest of its surrounding area.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

He raised the cane after assuring himself that the hat had not moved from its assigned perch and gestured to the transparent framework. "Fine, thanks. This is my Glass Wonkavator – our mode of transportation this afternoon."

She raised an eyebrow and studied the device. What she had taken at first for parts of the building ventilation were actually the thrusters on the enclosure itself. The sides, buttons, floor and ceiling were all made of high-impact resistant glass. The only things really visible were four purple velvet loops hanging from the ceiling inside.

Most people would protest at this point.

Willy was half expecting her to try and back out of it.

Veronica was made of sterner stuff however, and rolled the bike closer to study the doorway.

"I'm not sure how to get my bike in there, Mr. Wonka, and still have room for us."

"Iit will fit – it's really much larger than it seems from his angle." He opened the door with the top of his cane and gestured inside, "Ladies first."

Together they managed to wrestle the bike inside, standing it on its back wheel and the handlebar looped through one of the purple straps to hold it upright.

Willy wiped his forehead with one sleeve, "Jeez, that thing is bulky. Have you considered roller skates instead?"

Pausing at the echo of her own thoughts, she considered Mr. Wonka for a second. Maybe he wasn't out of phase with reality as badly as the interviews with the losers of the Golden Ticket contest would have the public believe. Either that, or she was more out of step with reality than she thought.

"Hold on," he said and pushed a nearly invisible button with the tip of his cane. The Wonkavator shot into the sky and Veronica's stomach waved goodbye from the rooftop.

Nope – it was him.

Mr. Wonka seemed impervious to the laws of gravity as they swooped into the clouds. She hurriedly grasped the purple support and hung on for dear life. At one point the Wonkavator did a seemingly random loop-de-loop and her feet left the floor entirely.

"Those are new, by the way," said Mr. Wonka, the essence of relaxed confidence in perilous situations.

"What are?" she gasped as the elevator swung into a large fluffy cloud.

"The straps. The Wonkavator didn't have them originally. Charlie and his family had complained about getting knocked about like pin balls when they rode in it," he shrugged. "Personally, I've never had a problem. However, for their sensibilities, I put the straps in and the Buckets all seem much happier to ride in it."

"That was very considerate of you. I am personally very grateful for their presence."

The glass Wonkavator hung suspended in the cloud, hidden from sight and all intrusions. Mr. Wonka turned to face his guest.

"Interested in why I've been hunting you down yet?"

"Highly."

"Well. First allow me to get your signature on this," He pulled a tri-folded piece of paper from his pocket and a calligraphy pen. "It's a standard non-disclosure agreement. It would prevent you from telling anyone else about what we discussed – if you did, you would be prosecuted with the full measure of the law."

"What about in a general manner with a family member who I could swear to secrecy?" she asked, a keen glint in her eye.

"As long as no specifics are mentioned and it doesn't end up in the media or my competitor's hands, I don't have any issue with it," he replied handing her the contract.

She glanced over it, and seeing the short paragraph explaining in much greater length and more legal mumbo-jumbo exactly what Mr. Wonka had just said, signed with a flourish. "I would like a copy for my own records please."

"Of course - now on to the fun part!" He took back the contract, blew on in gently to ensure the ink was dry, folded it and returned it to his pocket inside his frock coat.

"When I closed my factory doors all those years ago – I also had fired my workers." Mr. Wonka started to explain. He hesitated for a moment and shot her a measuring glance - as if to see if she was trustworthy of the information. She must have been since he continued.

"It was the worst moment of my life. When you hit bottom like that, sometimes it's helpful to take a break for a while. So, I decided to take the time to travel the world and do some expanded research into new flavors," He sighed shakily for a moment.

"I toured, India, Africa, South America, and Australia – exotic locations I'd always heard about, but never had the chance to go to. Finally, I traveled by Windjammer to a series of Pacific Islands off the coast of Jakarta. It was here that I first traveled to Loompaland."

Enthralled by Mr. Wonka's storytelling, she had to ask a question, "Is that a native's name for the island, or is that what the cartographers called it?"

Mr. Wonka gave her an approving smile, "You know - you are the first person to ask me that very intelligent question. It's the native name. The cartographers didn't bother to give it a name since it's so small and there are so many other islands in the area."

"Anyway - I discovered that the island was inhabited with the Oompa Loompas."

Mr. Wonka related the rest of the tale how he had met the tribe and learned of their plight trying to live day to day in such a dangerous environment. When he got around to relaying how he had brought them to his factory to live and work, Veronica had to comment again.

"How did you manage to get this through the immigration department? What about labor laws?"

"Let's just say paperwork for green cards got processed in record time. A certain Royal, who shall remain nameless, is particularly fond of my Toffee-Coffee Crunches," He winked at her.

"When a letter arrived from the Ministry of Labor asking the Oompa Loompas if they had - or even wanted - a union; Turpik-Ra - one of the Oompa Loompas who had attended an on-line law course - drafted a letter of response, got it signed by the Chief and sent it out without any input from me. The Oompa Loompas are amazingly quick studies and they are quite protective of their ways and don't' take kindly to outside interference," He said with obvious pride in his voice.

"Which, of course, intersects nicely with your own goals," Veronica finished for him.

"Exactly," Mr. Wonka nodded.

He continued. "I would like to hire you to create a statue of some kind - I am open to suggestions, to honor the Oompa Loompa for their hard work and for taking such a brave step into this new world to come work for me. The week before Christmas is the 15th anniversary of them coming to the factory. A massive celebration is being planned and I want to present your work to the Chief. "

"I don't have the time to make something personally – I considered it – but going missing for large chunks of time out of sight of my workers would be highly suspicious and I really want this to be a surprise. Not to mention it would be horribly tacky of me to ask them to make their own gift," He scrunched his nose in disgust at the notion.

"So that's my tale. Think you can whip up something to help me out, or do I need to keep looking?" He stood straight and tall, resting his hands on the nerds cane and waited patiently for Veronica's response. Only the faint squeak of his latex-clad hands twisting the cane betrayed his nerves. His face was blank and his eyes hidden behind the dark goggles.

Veronica studied Willy Wonka closely, trying to read what he wasn't saying as well as what he was. He was obviously fiercely protective of his workers and his factory – but the emotion in his voice had also told her that this wasn't some corporate thank-you gift he was looking for. This was a treasure to be presented to the tribe who had adopted him and moved from their primitive lives into a promised land. The sheer romance of the subject was seductive to her. Veronica also had a feeling that the Oompa Loompas were not just workers – they were Family.

It was a concept she could understand – choosing your family.

Willy Wonka had adopted the Oompa Loompas and chosen to shelter them from a world that would not understand their ways. In return they sheltered him from a world that had betrayed his trust. Something about this spoke to her as nothing else had.

Ignoring any lingering questions about pay, security measures or standards – she replied to the opportunity that Mr. Wonka was offering.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a deal," Veronica said.


	6. Chapter 6

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. I wouldn't mind a few Oompa Loompas though to help out around the house in exchange for obscene amounts of Nutella though. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 6**

Willy felt a great surge of relief at Ms. Carmichael's agreement. The hard part was done and now time was of the essence.

"Excellent! I am so pleased you agreed Ms. Carmichael – you really don't know how grateful I am," he burbled seizing her outstretched hand and shaking it enthusiastically.

A smile lit her face as well making her eyes dance with mischief, "Not as relieved as I am Mr. Wonka. However, not to sound mercenary or anything, but can we discuss wages and other such things now? Please forgive my rather pressing need on that topic."

Willy released her hand and gestured for her to take a seat on the transparent floor. She slid to the floor to sit in a cross-legged position and he quickly did the same. "I was thinking of something in the neighborhood of €500,000.

Veronica froze again, her eyes locked on the Chocolatier, "Half a million? For a project over the course of six weeks?"

"Isn't that enough?"

Shock was fading quickly, "It's more than generous. It just makes me wonder what kind of stipulations you're going to place on how I work to earn that kind of money."

Willy shook his head, "Nothing that strange – in fact I want to ensure you have a top quality worksite and the best materials to work with that money can buy. I'll pay for all that separately since the remodeling or revision would easily eat that amount up. The bit you may find strange would be the security precautions I warned you about."

She nodded warily, "Go on."

"Once we determine a location for your kitchen, I want my workers to come by and install security measures. I mean, key codes, locks, and my own patented alarm system. You don't know the lengths my competitors will go through in attempts to steal my secrets, Ms. Carmichael. I'm also going to have to insist on access limited only to you and I – no visitors."

Veronica agreed – and offered a suggestion, "Actually, I live in a building with several offices. The office on the top floor is currently vacant and has sufficient work space and lighting. Would that be a satisfactory work area? Add in a stairwell between the office and my apartment and I'd never have to leave the building."

He pursed his lips in thought for a moment. Having her work and live in the same building cut down on the chance of a spy working their way in. People tended to be more protective of their own personal space than a separate workplace. Willy also wasn't as naïve as he used to be – Mr. Carmichael seem altruistic, but she could also want a free remodeled apartment too. He wanted to see the place before he agreed though.

"It might work, I want to see it first." He said grudgingly.

Veronica cocked her head and grinned, "Brilliant! In that case – can you get this thing to my apartment building?"

The both stood. Veronica grabbed one of the purple straps as Willy maneuvered the Wonkavator out of the cloudbank to hover over empty air again. "It's over there on the edge of town by the u-bend in the river – see it there?"

"Hang on – we'll have a bit of fun getting there. That is, unless you want to be a bit more sedate in our approach?" one slim brow rose over the top of his goggles.

She grinned at the challenge, "Oh, please don't hold back on my account Mr. Wonka. There hasn't been a roller coaster yet made that could make me ill."

Veronica was cackling with glee as they came to a gentle landing on the rooftop of her building. Her sides hurt with effort of too much laughter and squeals of excitement. "You are a virtual aerobatic ace in your contraption Mr. Wonka, in addition to making some pretty good chocolate."

Mr. Wonka sniffed, "Only 'pretty-good' chocolate? My dear Ms. Carmichael – I am the world's best Chocolatier. 'Pretty good' is damning me with faint praise."

"You're so modest as well."

"It isn't boasting if it happens to be true."

They exited and Veronica wrestled the bike out of the Wonkavator. She rolled the bike to the side and leaned it to rest against the two foot wall that bordered the roof. She glanced over the side and briefly considered dropping the bloody thing off the top of the roof rather than attempting to get it down the narrow stairwell. No – although the thought was delightful.

She led the way over to the fire door and gestured for Mr. Wonka to follow. She grabbed the handle and pulled…

…and pulled…

…and really got into it, resting her feet on either side of the door and pulled with her full, currently insufficient, weight.

Finally, she had to concede defeat. Panting she turned to Mr. Wonka, who was watching the performance with a smirk of enjoyment.

"Excuse me for a moment. I will try opening it from the other side," she said politely before walking to an edge of the roof and jumping off.

* * *

His heart in his throat at her apparently suicidal gesture, he shot over to the edge and peered over, expecting to see her splattered all over the pavement below.

Instead, he saw her climbing down the fire escape of the building with monkey-like agility. She paused and looked up at him with a smirk of her own and waved before disappearing into an open window.

Irritated at her for startling him, Willy returned to the fire door to wait. After a moment a few bangs on the door from inside indicated that Ms. Carmichael had returned. "Um, it's still stuck – could you try pulling from that side, while I work on it from here?" she called from the other side of the door.

He briefly considered the door, reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small aerosol can of disinfectant. He gingerly sprayed the door handle, before nodding in satisfaction returning the can to his coat. Then he tentatively grasped the handle and yelled, "Ready when you are."

"On the count of three then…" she called.

"Right. One!" he replied

"Two!"

"Three!" they both yelled and applied their strength to the stubborn door. There was a moment of hesitation, and then the door flew open. Willy was thrown to the rooftop in surprise and an equally surprised Ms. Carmichael was flung forward and her head me in violent impact Willy's knee. Hat, goggles and cane went flying and she landed on the gravel roof with an inelegant belly flop.

"Ow!"

"Aargh!"

He sat up to rub his abused knee while Ms. Carmichael rolled onto her back clutching her eye with a grimace of pain on her face. "Are you significantly hurt?" he asked, glancing at her.

She hesitantly sat up and started to slowly climb to her feet. "Not really, just a few scrapes and I'll have to take a look at the eye to see."

Willy climbed to his feet, returned the hat to his head and gently grasped her chin to turn her head to the light to see the damage. A watering eye surrounded by puffed flesh met his gaze – golden green iris with brown and amber flecks winced at the light. "You're going to have a bit of a shiner I'm afraid."

Ms. Carmichael shrugged and handed him his goggles and cane. "Ah well, wouldn't be the first time. Come on down to my apartment and I'll put some ice on this to try and keep the swelling down."

The mildly battered woman turned to head down the now open stairwell, and he unobtrusively removed his gloves and replaced them with a fresh pair, stuffing the used pair into his pocket.

Ms. Carmichael pointed out a doorway with a steel door and bolt lock on the landing below the roof level. "That's the space I was talking about. "

She pushed the door open and walked into the space, "Since the building is a key-code controlled entry, they tend to leave the unoccupied offices unlocked and rely on the rest of us to check in every now and then. It's just me and a group of architects on the level below me. The building manager is a bit desperate for new occupants and I'm sure you could get a good deal if you thought it might work."

Willy walked into the cavernous space. An angled roof was plated with white translucent glass letting in plenty of natural light without compromising privacy, open duct work and brick walls left the room open for a lot of space. Aged wooden floors covered were covered in dust. The area reminded him of the factory he had bought and eventually refurbished on a much smaller scale.

A good place for dreams to be born.

"This will do quite nicely. How close is your apartment from here?" he asked turning to his companion.

"Downstairs from here – follow me."

* * *

By the time they entered her humble apartment, Veronica's eye had purpled dramatically. She excused herself to the bathroom and hurriedly gulped down a few Ibuprofen, cleaned and bandaged her scraped hands, briefly examined her bruised elbows and grabbed the ice bag.

As she filled the ice bag she watched as Mr. Wonka examined her apartment. The air was fresh with the smell of pine and bleach from her last cleaning spree and the candy globes glinted in the afternoon light.

He poked a gloved hand at the globes, "Great idea – these are nicely done. Charlie and I were thinking about something similar, but hadn't got around to developing anything yet. If you don't mind, I'd like to help you market them if you're interested."

Veronica could hardly believe the massive change in fortune over the last three hours. She'd gone from nearly broke and homeless, to being offered a lucrative project and an offer to market the very candy globes that she'd been slaving away on since the food network fiasco. She really had to shake her head in amazement.

"That would be wonderful Mr. Wonka. I haven't had much luck getting anyone interested in these up to this point," She said moving to place the bag over her injured eye. "Would you care for anything to drink?" she asked belatedly, remembering that she was now a hostess.

"Urg…no thank you," he visibly shuddered and for a moment she felt like she had overstepped her boundaries with the man.

Mr. Wonka had noticed her hurt expression and sighed, sometimes it was hard to remember how to interact with people.

Changing topic rapidly he asked, "So, now that we have a work location selected, I know a good contractor who can turn that into a working kitchen in about a week – you just need to specify what equipment you need."

She nodded and then offered, "Since we have limited time, I would also like to offer up ideas for your consideration and try to figure out candy formulations while the kitchen gets constructed. My kitchen here is good for small batches, so we wouldn't lose time that way."

Willy was momentarily stunned at the selfless offering of using her home as a temporary work facility, "That is very kind of you Ms. Carmichael, but I wouldn't want to impose. Surely you want your privacy?"

Veronica shrugged again, "It's not like I've got a swinging social life. You're the first person other than Reggie and Spencer to be here since I moved in."

"Who are Reggie and Spencer? You mentioned them in our phone call."

She blushed furiously at the memory of their phone call this morning – it made her eye throb uncomfortably. "Reggie is my brother and Spencer is his partner…I mean fiancé."

"Fiancé? I was under the impression that Spencer is a guy's name."

"It is."

Mr. Wonka shook his head, "I guess I've been out of the game longer than I thought. So gay marriages are legal now?"

"Not here in England – although there are a few places like Canada and some places in the colonies it is."

He shrugged, "Not my scene, but whatever makes them happy."

"That's my take on it. In either case, Reggie and Spencer are the only two people I would even consider talking to about this project. I won't though if it makes you uncomfortable."

He shook his head and finally deigned to take a seat on a stool by the kitchen counter. "No problems, like I said earlier, as long as they can keep it to themselves."

Veronica smiled gently to herself. Mr. Wonka was showing an unusual amount of sense – more than she had ever thought possible from his coverage in the media. She watched as he began to see how fast he could spin on the seat, only to overbalance and fall to the floor. This was a man who was comfortable in his own skin and didn't care what anyone else thought.

"Well then Mr. Wonka, in that case how about we meet here again tomorrow evening and I'll spend the day doing some research and putting together some ideas," she suggested and he leapt to his feet to straighten his hat again.

"Certainly, and I'll bring a few samples of my candy for flavors and textures as well as letting you take a look to check for suitability for your work."

Veronica was surprised, "I wasn't expecting that. How involved in this project do you plan on being?"

He leaned on the counter with his arms wide and violet eyes bright, "I'll tell you honestly, I'm going to try and be involved in the planning and testing as best as I can, but I'm leaving the actual execution up to you – my schedule isn't planned out on a day to day basis. I hope you don't mind working some eccentric hours."

She grinned wryly, "Nothing new there. I don't sleep much when something like this gets under my skin. I tend to get obsessed. Just give me a call first and if I don't answer, feel free to come over since I'll be up to my neck in work and won't hear the phone."

"Until tomorrow then, Ms. Carmichael." He gave a courtly tip to his hat and turned to leave the apartment, "See ya at about 8 p.m."

He let himself out, and she could hear his boots up the stairs. She moved to her small desk in the corner to grab pencils and paper to start brainstorming. A new thought came to her as she heard the Wonkavator's thrusters firing from the roof. A cruel grin lit her bruised features as she reset the ice bag to her black eye and started sketching.

Reggie and Spencer were going to shit when they heard this.


	7. Chapter 7

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. The Oopma Loompa lawyer, Mr. Rapik-Ra, esquire, has contacted me and insisted that Nutella is not a significant source of compensation for employment. However, negotiations are continuing for services in exchange for chocolate-covered expresso beans… or was that coffee-covered cocoa beans…? – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 7**

Willy enjoyed the beautiful scenery on the return trip to the factory. The sun was setting and the shadows cast long purple shadows over the land below. The orange and blood red sky bled into inky midnight blue and the final outline of black skeletal trees added a desolate beauty to the fading day.

His mind was awhirl with all he had learned this evening and with what had to be accomplished. Giving Ms. Carmichael her own space to work in next to her own apartment was a burden lifted. Willy had dreaded bringing yet another person to the factory. Bringing the Buckets in had led to panic attacks and quite a few late night sessions with his psychiatrist for almost a year until he grew comfortable with their presence.

The factory loomed black in his field of vision as he flew closer – the large gothic industrial structure now dominating the landscape.

Willy decided that rather than negotiate with the owners of the building to make the changes critical to his project, he would just buy the building outright. If he could get everyone out of the building for a day or two – he could have all construction efforts completed by the Oompa Loompas and ready to work.

He considered for a moment, what he would tell his workers about the woman. He didn't typically go out of his way to help a struggling artist like this – more often than not a judicious application of cash accomplished the same results. But he decided to tell them the truth – just not the whole truth. He would say that he had seen her on the Food Network Challenge, found out about her bad luck, and was helping her get her business underway – the candy globes were a nice bonus. A nice clean business arrangement – and the gift was something that need not be mentioned.

The Wonkavator smoothly slid back onto the guiding rail in the factory like a dove returning to its roost after a long day. It came to rest outside his office and she stepped out. He was met by one of his workers, Ori-Va – otherwise known as Orville – who bowed. Orville was the plant foreman in charge of maintenance.

Willy returned the gesture and started walking down the corridor to the Chocolate Room. "What happened while I was gone?" he asked to the short man trotting beside him.

"Char-Li has completed the trials on the candy kites. He was initially worried about the melting points for the licorice lines and would like your input." Orville's surprisingly deep voice replied.

"Char-Li mentioned a myth about Icarus and what would happen if the kite string got too hot?"

Willy nodded, "Oh yeah. I'd almost forgotten about that...he's got a good point."

Melted licorice - meh! - "Continue please!"

Orville continued. "One of the gobstopper guns backfired and there were some minor bumps and bruises – repairs were made and the gun is back in operation."

Willy listened attentively to the matters of the factory as they headed deeper into the bowels of the factory. He nodded a few times and gave a few terse commands.

"Charlie will be accompanying me to the front office tomorrow morning to learn how our distribution forecasts work – make sure extra darts and a new map are handy. Also, the weather is getting ready to get colder – make sure the windows are sealed and there are no drastic temperature differences anywhere there shouldn't be. We don't want anyone hitting a draft and getting sick before the Exodus Celebration, 'kay?"

They had arrived at the door to the Chocolate Room and Orville turned to leave.

"Wait a sec." Willy paused thoughtfully. Most of the equipment that Ms. Carmichael was going to need was already here – it would be easier and more time efficient to take it from here rather than order and have to wait a week or two for it to arrive.

Orville paused, awaiting the word of his employer and friend.

"We're doing a good deed for a local starving artist. I need a work crew to be ready to go at my word to set up a small artisan candy kitchen not too far from here."

Willy continued, rattling off a list of equipment and supplies available in the factory to be delivered and installed as soon as the building purchase was done.

"This is going to be a random act of kindness here – so review the specs for the building and let me know if we're going to be able to do it in a day or if we'll need more time. 'kay?"

Orville smiled at the taller man. He and his people were constantly amazed at the seemingly bottomless gift for giving that Willy Wonka possessed. He always made sure that his money and efforts went to improving the lives of those who could use what he gave them to improve their lives – not just dropped a nickel in the bucket and didn't fix the problem.

Orville nodded and bowed with deepest respect. Then he quickly turned and raced off to fulfill his employer's request.

Willy watched the small figure in the red jumpsuit trot off – looks like he bought it! Whew!

He turned and entered the Chocolate room. He was going to need Charlie's help for the next part.

* * *

Willy had missed dinner – roast chicken with vegetables. Mrs. Bucket was kind enough to fix him a plate of the still warm food to eat as he spoke. After assuring them that the Oompa Loompas were not in proximity, he quickly laid out his plan for the Exodus Celebration and Ms. Carmichael's role in it.

Grandpa Joe tapped his teeth deep in thought. "What you need is some way to communicate with her without having to run back and forth all the time."

Willy paused with his mouth full and head cocked in thought for a moment. Chewing rapidly he waved his fork for emphasis, "Secured satellite conferences and encrypted e-mail traffic. Remember? NASA _owes_ me."

"That way you can see what she's got and talk to her - brilliant!" Charlie exclaimed. "Have you decided on what it's going to be yet?"

The Chocolatier shook his head, "No, and I'm not going to dictate form. In fact, check this out..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the candy globes that had been suspended from Ms. Carmichael's ceiling and tossed it to his apprentice.

Charlie deftly caught it and held it up to the soft firelight – the spun sugar globe gleamed gently with swirls of complementary colors.

Mrs. Bucket gasped and touched it with a delicate finger, making it spin "Lovely!"

Charlie turned toward his mentor, "It's beautiful – this would be wonderful for Christmas. When did you get the chance to make this?"

"I didn't – it's not mine. This is complements of Ms. Carmichael who agreed that we would be able to produce and distribute her creation under the Wonka name."

Everyone examined the globe with new eyes – whoever came up with this had a gift.

"Ms. Carmichael indicated she was going to draft up some ideas and present them to me tomorrow night. Charlie, I would like you to come with since we're going to be working on the flavoring and formulation to go with what she proposes." Willy mentioned this with a nod to Charlie's parents, covertly asking their permission to take their son on an expedition.

"Mom? Dad? May I please go?" Charlie asked, breaking out his Puppy Eyes™.

The irresistible force of Puppy Eyes™ was too much for them, "Alright Charlie, as long as your homework is done and you don't complain about being tired at school tomorrow." His mother smiled gently at him.

Willy was impressed at the level of manipulation exhibited by his young heir. He himself had proven to be immune to Puppy Eyes™, Sad Sigh™, and Wheedling™. It wasn't like Charlie used them often – in fact, the rarity upon which they showed up increased their potency – and showed how badly Charlie wanted to accompany him. He was touched and slightly disturbed at this parental interaction – if this is what being a parent was like, it was best left to professionals.

He delicately wiped his mouth and set the napkin by the side of the plate, "On that note – I've got some work I need to get accomplished before tomorrow. The Oompa Loompas are all at home, so this is going to be my only shot to get most of it done. Good evening Buckets!"

He stood and gathered his hat and cane and left the house.

* * *

While Willy Wonka worked in his office across town, Veronica made good use of her time. As darkness crept across the land she had wrestled the bike off the roof and was peddling furiously to her brother's apartment on the upper north part of town. She jumped off the bike and quickly chained it to the light post by the front door.

Pressing the button at the top of the stairs, she heard Spencer's light tenor voice, "Yes? Who is it?"

"Candygram – open the bloody door!" She pulled on the door, but it failed to open.

"I'm sorry – I don't think we want this type of candy." Spencer's teasing tones mocked her.

She heard a scuffle at the intercom, "Honestly you two…"

There was a buzz and the door lept into Veronica's hands. She virtually flew up to the fourth floor apartment, throwing the door open in excitement.

Reggie was peering out the window at her bike chained below, "Looks a bit dinged up, what happened?"

"It fell off a roof. Can I borrow your computer?"

Spencer came out of the bedroom in his typical loungewear – basketball shorts and a white wifebeater, "I'm sorry – did you just say your bike fell off a roof?" He stopped in horror – seeing her vivid black eye, "Ronnie! What happened?"

Ignoring him she continued to try and move past him to the computer.

"Pushed actually – if you don't mind, I need to do quite a lot of research tonight, would you mind if I crashed on your couch?

Both crossed their arms and regarded her with the same lofty expression that fairly screamed, "Explain yourself, young lady!"

She snorted, it never worked with her parent then, she'd be damned if it would now.

Spencer broke first with an arch look at Reggie, "Alien Abduction?"

Reggie shook is dark head, "Government conspiracy?"

"Doctor Who?"

"X-Files."

They looked at each other with a grin then turned to face her with grim expressions, "Ronnie – who's been Muldering your Scully?"

She threw her hands up in aggravation. "My bike was on the roof – I needed it to get over here. Ergo – quickest point between two lines is not a stairway. So I pushed it off – the wheel bent back just fine. What's the issue?"

Reggie guided her to the couch and pushed her down with gentle force before sitting next to her to take her hands with concerned gentle eyes. "The issue is, we both know you're broke and are concerned about making rent. We're concerned because we know what a sensitive and lonely girl you are – and we want to make sure that no one's trying to hurt you. Including yourself. Now, why was your bike on the roof and where did the black eye come from?"

Blinking back sudden tears, Veronica smiled at her brother. The great loving idiot.

"Reggie, if I was going to do myself in, don't you think riding my bike off the roof is one of the most idiotic ways to go?"

They both had the brains to look somewhat shamefaced. Reggie coughed, "Well – dramatic anyway."

"It's a good way to get mentioned on the news." Spencer muttered.

Rolling her eyes she pulled herself to her feet and made her way over to the computer desk in the corner. Normally, this was Spencer's domain – he spent hours playing "World of Warcraft" online and as a result, the area was very – cushy.

"I have got a commission," Veronica announced to the pair watching with concerned eyes. "I have six weeks to complete it. My mission - should I choose to complete it - comes with a price tag of €500,000."

Spencer and Reggie shot disbelieving looks at one another, half a million?! For candy!?

"Who's it for?"

She smirked without looking at them and started surfing the net for the information and images she needed. "I'm not at liberty to say at this moment."

"Oh come off it!" Spencer burst. "I tell you what costumes are going on the latest West End productions. Grant me some professional courtesy please!"

Spencer was a costume designer for the theater set in London – his flair for color and cut were very popular with the American actors. Reggie worked as a dancer and choreographer for musicals in development with the theaters – it was while creating magic for the stage with "Sweeny Todd" that they had met. Both had made a sick amount of money from their chosen professions that they had been willing to share with her when times were good.

Payback was a bitch at times.

She growled and slumped for a moment. She wanted to hold onto the secret – something special – only for her. But real life had people who cared for her and they needed to know.

"You want professional? Fine – then I'm telling you right now, quit ringing my apartment claiming to be Willy Wonka." She snarled, typing furiously.

Blinking at the change in topic, "Ronnie darling, it was a joke. What does that have anything to do with it?"

Well, if she was going to have to tell, she was going to enjoy the show.

Turning from the computer, she regarded the pair with an arch look on her face. Raising an eyebrow, she waited for it.

"Ronnie – why do you object to Spencer calling you up to be Willy Wonka?" Reggie wondered aloud.

She started to grin.

"What does Wonka have to do with anything?" Spencer asked with dawning light in his eyes.

She waited until Reggie gasped and started flapping his hands excitedly.

"No bloody way!"

"You mean Wil..."

Now thoroughly tickled, she returned to the computer keyboard, "See. Now you know why I couldn't tell you."

Reggie stopped suddenly with a black look, "Wait a minute. What about the black eye?"

"Oh – that was Mr. Wonka. It was an accident though."

"Willy Wonka gave you a black eye?" Spencer's eyes were practically bugging out of his skull.

Veronica sighed, this was going to be a long night.

* * *

Willy hung up the phone with a sigh of satisfaction. Other than being bugged at being contacted after midnight, the building owners were more than happy to turn over the property with a minimum of fuss and time. Of course, the one of the world's wealthiest men offering to pay two times what the building was worth in cash probably encouraged cooperation more than anything else. Tupik-Ra would be busy tomorrow – as his legal counsel, he would draw up the paperwork to be signed tomorrow afternoon.

He was drawing up a list of equipment and supplies that Ms. Carmichael might theoretically use and how the space should be set up when his knee throbbed uncomfortably. Curious, he leaned back and drew up the pant leg of his trousers to see the damage done earlier. A softball sized bruise decorated the inside point of his kneecap.

Looks like Ms. Carmichael left him with a reminder.

Dropping the pant leg, Willy smirked to himself and returned to his work…

…haunted by a black and blue hazel green eye and a faint pressure of skin against his fingertips.


	8. Chapter 8

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. Negotiations are continuing for Oompa Loompa services in exchange for chocolate-covered espresso beans – if the amount they're asking for is accurate these guys are jittery as hell or there are a lot more of them than first supposed._

_Side note: The movie industry lost a titan Sunday with the passing of Stan Winston, master creature maker. Rest in peace, Stan. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 8**

Veronica looked up in keen annoyance from her intense research into aboriginal artwork of the Indian/Jawa Ocean Islands. There was light reflecting off the screen from a strange angle making it difficult to see. She squinted for a moment then turned to glare at either of the men who had hovered over her most of the night trying to peer over her shoulder.

No one was there – and the light in question was the sun rising.

Mildly surprised, she turned to check the time on the computer – 6:38 a.m. Damn, she'd worked through the night without realizing it.

Veronica also realized, rather embarrassed, that sometime in the middle of the night, the pestering questions she had been ignoring had turned to pleading to turn the bloody computer off and go to bed, then finally the blessed silence had been the couple retreating to bed themselves.

She collected the impressive pile of printouts and sketches into a neat stack and rose to make breakfast. It was the least she could do for crashing their apartment and hoarding their computer.

She had just crafted beignets sprinkled with powdered sugar and chocolate dip when Reggie staggered out of the bedroom, heading for the heavenly smell. Veronica said nothing and smiled – he was barely conscious, moving on instinct alone. She poured him a cup of coffee, slid it over to him and waited.

It took two piping hot beignets and a cup and a half of coffee before Reggie looked up and grunted, "Morning."

Veronica took this as an invitation for conversation to begin. She sipped her own light sweet coffee and quietly apologized, "Sorry Reggie. I hope I haven't bugged you too much."

He waved a hand dismissively, nose buried in a long swallow. "Don't worry about it. I was just worried that you had finally snapped. I know Wonka is a secretive sort and I'll make sure Spencer won't pry. You know I won't."

Veronica's heart swelled and she leaned over to hug her brother. "Thanks Reggie. "

"What time did you crash last night?" He asked, running a hand through tousled dark brown hair – making it stand up in new and unusual ways. His hair was always a source of entertainment in the mornings.

"I didn't – I only stopped when the glare from the sun hit the screen making it impossible to see."

He shot her an irritated glance, "Ronnie, you're going to be a train wreck by the time Mr. Wonka shows up."

She shook her head, "No – I'll splurge on my fallback boyfriend – Mr. Coffee. In fact – depending on how the day flows, I might indulge in a triple espresso mint mocha. Mmmmm….mocha!"

"Mocha? Who's buying?" interrupted Spencer strolling out of the bedroom fully dressed and ready to go for the day.

"Well, look who's looking perky this morning? What catastrophic event has dragged you out of bed at this uncivilized hour?" asked Reggie, giving Spencer an approving once-over.

"Other than this manna from heaven? I've got a showing this morning at 8:30 and need to get the samples in order. Tim Burton's back in town doing some sort of remake of "Dark Shadows," He grabbed a travel mug and fussily placed a few beignets on a napkin for transport without showering powdered sugar everywhere.

"Spence – I want to make sure that you understand that Mr. Wonka is not a topic for popular conversation. I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement and get the verbal OK to even mention this much to you," Veronica said.

"No worries, Love! I swear by his tailor – which you have GOT to get the name of for me pretty please! – not to divulge any juicy details or even a vague suggestion that you are employed. In fact, who are you again and what are you doing with my lover, you tramp?"

She laughed and turned to Spencer to give him a hug and a peck on the cheek as well. "You really are too good for me."

"Yes, I am. Now excuse me – I've got to fly."

He hurriedly gave Reggie a kiss and smile and headed out the door.

Reggie shook his head in amazement at the antics of his partner – the man he was voluntarily choosing to marry, "Thank you Hurricane Spencer."

Veronica chugged the rest of her coffee and stuffed a beignet in her mouth. "I've got to get back – mind if I borrow your shower?" she asked around the mouthful of mush.

"Go ahead – indulge darling. I don't have to be at work until 10, so I plan on indulging in a few more beignets and coffee while reading up on the news. The shower is yours if you're done with the computer."

Nodding, she bustled to the bedroom and the promised bliss of the first hot shower in almost a month.

* * *

Willy had also worked the whole night through – although he was used to this and rather enjoyed the dubious pleasure of waking up various parties with his requests.

Tupik-Ra entered the Invention Room where Willy had sequestered himself this morning trying to catch up for weeks of neglect. He waited for the tall man to finish his current project, holding a blow torch to a line of licorice and a thermometer.

Willy cackled to himself in glee for a moment when the line snapped under the intense heat, "42.8C - If it gets much hotter than that, the kite will be on fire anyway! He turned to another Oompa Loompa who was taking notes for the candy-maker. "When Charlie gets back from school, let him know. I think this one is ready for production – roll with it would you?"

Willy lifted the welder's mask to reveal the pale features underneath and removed the heavy leather gloves. "Is that the building purchase?" he asked Tupik-Ra. The lawyer bowed and handed the thick sheaf of documents to the man. Willy hurriedly donned a pair of bright blue latex gloves this time and quickly paged through to find the stick arrows indicating where his signature was needed.

The Oompa Loompa seemingly read his employers mind and produced a pen, which was gratefully received and wielded with emphatic flourishes. "There – is there any stipulations about when I can start making changes?"

Turpik-Ra shook his head. Willy grinned with manic glee, "Excellent! Let Orville know that the building is ready for work and have the assembled team meet me here ASAP. "

He turned and marched over to a work table jammed with bottles and flasks of steaming, bubbling and in some cases, humming ingredients. Opening a drawer he pulled out a handful of wax paper wrapped treats with the consistency of saltwater taffy.

This was one of his most secret creations – made exclusively for his Oompa Loompas.

When he turned, a group of seven Oompa Loompas in massively oversized jumpsuits had lined up awaiting his orders. He handed a taffy to each and upon his signal, the candy was unwrapped and eaten. Under his watchful eye, the bodies of his seven workers started to stretch and grow.

First their limbs lengthened then torsos and heads. Within a minute of eating the treats, the Oompa Loompas were the size of full grown English adults. The jumpsuits were now of an appropriate size and the workers shuffled in place grinning at each other, getting accustomed to their new size and perspective.

This was the same team of Oompa Loompas that had left the factory three years prior to post the notices to the world about the Golden Ticket contests. It had taken weeks of extensive training to get used to their new sizes enough to ride the scooters used for transportation. Willy intended to take advantage of that experience and training now.

Willy shucked the welder's mask turned to face his workers in shirtsleeves with the heavy leather apron still covering his torso.

"Your job today is to go to 145 Bradshaw St, and go to the offices located on the top floor of the building. This is going to be the location of an artesian candy kitchen for our struggling artist. I want to get the renovations done as quickly as possible. The equipment is the same as the ones in the factory – in fact it's some of ours that needed to be updated anyway. The rest of the materials should be arriving within the hour. The taffy should be good for the rest of the day, but if any of you have any problems, don't hesitate – take cover in the truck and get back here ASAP.

He paused in his pacing to regard one of the workers who seemed to loom over him. "Nei-Vil, were you this tall before?"

Nei-Vil shrugged, "I think so, there were a lot of basketball jokes floating around."

They both shrugged and the Chocolatier continued, "There is some special communications gear I absolutely need to get set up today, so make that your priority."

"Any questions?"

There was a general glancing from one another and nudging before Nei-Vil raised his hand, "What about side-trips?"

Although the Oompa Loompas were fiercely protective of their world, they were also intensely curious about their adopted. This was an unrivaled opportunity for them to explore.

"Finish up early, and you can hit the Karaoke bar on Cherry Street on the way back – but be back here no later than sunset – I can't guarantee the taffy beyond that."

The crossed their hands and bowed. Nei-Vil managed to bump heads with Willy.

"Ow!"

"Sorry Mr. Won-Ka! I'm still getting used to this height – how you people manage to walk about so casually without toppling over is a mystery to me," Nei-Vil complained.

The extra-tall Oompa Loompa staggered back and together the group headed out of the Invention Room to head to the loading docks where their equipment and tools had been loaded.

Willy rubbed his head for a moment watching his workers leave and then returned to his various experiments. He had a lot to try and get through before tonight.

* * *

Veronica ran around her apartment in a flurry – thanks to a timely call from Mr. Wonka's secretary this afternoon, she now had a small advance to pay for little things.

Like food…

… And electricity…

…and glorious life-giving triple espresso mint mochas.

When she had turned on the lights for the first time in weeks – she was mildly horrified at the dust that had gathered in the corners and by the floorboards. Veronica was grateful for the caffeine-buzz as it gave her the ability to clean like a particularly civic-minded tornado.

The apartment, smelling like bleach, floor cleaner and fresh vacuumed air, never looked better – which really wasn't saying much.

The office overhead must have gotten the word from Mr. Wonka, since before she had returned this morning there was a crew of workers hammering furiously, pushing equipment and band-sawing like there was no tomorrow. She was tempted to go up to see the progress, but wanted to wait until Mr. Wonka arrived.

Veronica sat at her desk reviewing her notes again. Her ideas were arranged by category and she had arguments for and against arranged for all of them. There was a knock on her front door and her eyes shot to the microwave clock – too early to be her expected visitor.

She opened the door to see one of the workers from upstairs. He wore a dark blue jumpsuit and baseball cap. Dark skin crinkled at the corners as he smiled with bright white teeth. "Ms. Carmichael?"

"Yes?"

"Good afternoon – I am sorry if we were disturbing you. I am Ori-Vil – or Orville if you wish. Mr. Wonka asked me to check in with you." The man's deep voice resounded musically.

"It is a pleasure to meet you. Which do you prefer? Ori-Vil or Orville?" she asked offering her hand.

He regarded her hand for a moment then slowly shook it, "Orville, please. Would you care to inspect our work before we depart?"

Veronica had done research all day – she didn't miss the hesitation before shaking or the aborted bow as she opened the door. Could this be one of Mr. Wonka's mysterious workers? She decided to try some of the customs she had been reading about to see if her guess was correct. She grabbed a treat off the counter and with her keys in hand hurried out the door.

"I would be delighted," she turned to shut the door and followed Orville up the stairs.

He showed her the keypad lock, "You need to select a combination first, Ms. Carmichael."

She thought briefly for a moment, then selected a series of numbers and punched them into the lock. Orville carefully monitored the process – the light flashed green a few times then paused. "Okay – one more time please."

She typed the number again and the door clicked open. Orville pushed through and motioned for her to follow.

The space had been transformed. Light wood cabinets lined a u-shaped industrial kitchen area, heat lamps, stainless steel tables and lots of overhead lighting made the formerly dim space shine with promise. Refurnished wood floors shone warmly under the natural light. There was a 4-seat conference table in one corner and a strange desktop computer set up on one counter. It had a web camera and microphone set up attached. There was an icon spinning on the screen.

Veronica paused – amazed at the change in 24-hours. She cautiously approached the area and snooped into cabinets and drawers. The kitchen was fully equipped and stocked, ready to be used. There were even speakers so she could plug in her I-pod.

Orville went over and typed on the computer for a moment. "The security system is up and running. There is only one access point into and out of the room – the door you just entered. You are going to have to type your pin code again when you wish to leave. If someone attempts to open or leave another area – alarms will sound and the security protocol will capture and detain the intruder. Only Mr. Wonka and I have the codes or bypass permission. Is this clear?"

She nodded and regarded the equipment with satisfaction and joy deep in her heart. "Thank you Orville, for you and all your friend's hard work. Please give my gratitude and appreciation to Mr. Wonka for his generosity."

Then to Orville's surprise, she crossed her arms and bowed, then rose to present a small bag to him. "They're chocolate-covered espresso beans. I hope you enjoy them."

He quickly returned the gesture with a wide grin and said, "Thank you! Please let Mr. Wonka know if you need anything else."

* * *

In wonder, he left the building to join the rest of the Oompa Loompas in the truck. As they drove away, they clustered around Ori-Vil. "What did the outsider woman think?" "Was she pleased?"

Ori-Vil displayed the bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans, "She thanked us most properly – with this gift and with proper respect - most surprising!"

"We've got about two hours before sunset – what now?"

Ori-Vil leaned back in satisfaction, still mildly uncomfortable in this extra-long body, "Head to Cherry Street – we boogie!"


	9. Chapter 9

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. The Oompa Loompa representative, Tupik-Ra, would like to point out the misidentification of the Wonka maintenance foreman Ori-Vil in the last chapter. Ori-Va (otherwise known as Oliver) has been identified as the supply clerk and alternate candy-tester. Ori-Va has never left the factory – due to a bad experience in the invention room and some Night Nougat, is agoraphobic. Any misunderstanding is unintentional and will be corrected. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 8**

The sun set with the same stealth and attention paid as it had rose. Concentrating on the soft-crack grade molten sugar under the heat lamps, Veronica completely failed to notice the time.

A soft cough and rapping on the hard wooden floor was the only thing that wrenched her attention from the formation before her.

She straightened up and looked around in amazement at the dark area. Mr. Wonka and a slightly shorter leaner figure stood outlined next to him. She could barely make out their outline of darker shadows from the surrounding gloom.

"Hello?" She called. "I'm sorry, I lost track of the time – flip on the light, would you?"

The shorter figure flipped the light switch on the wall and Veronica had to squint in the sudden light.

"I'm glad to see the facilities meet your approval, Ms. Carmichael," teased Mr. Wonka with a smirk.

She scratched the back of her neck sheepishly, "Yes, well – I had to take it for a test drive, didn't I?"

She indicated the basic sculpture before her, "Everything seems to work out well. Although some of the equipment is quite nice, its things I'll never need. Like the air-pump - I don't tend to use them because I need a finer grade of control than what is commonly used. I learned how to blow sugar from a glass-maker."

Mr. Wonka nodded and came closer to examine the sculpture in minute detail. He waved the smaller figure over, "Ms. Carmichael – I would like you to meet Charlie Bucket, my heir."

Charlie nodded politely and offered his hand. She held her hands up – covered in a greasy substance. "Sorry – sticky fingers - nice to meet you Charlie."

Charlie shook the proffered elbow with a grin although it faded quickly at the sight of Veronica's black eye. Mr. Wonka leaned over, just out of range of the heat lamps and quietly began pointing out features of her work to the boy. She turned to the sink to wash her hands and get rid of the goo.

--

Willy noted that the sculpture had a thick base and rising spires like flames rose from the center in a spiral pattern, gradient color – deep red at the base and rising up into orange and yellow reinforced the flame impression. He silently noted one other important detail – in a few places still obviously being worked on, marks of fingertips left impressions in the hot sugar. It was something that was not normally present without an impression of the texture of gloves as well – but he could see fingerprints.

Weird.

--

"This is very good, Ms. Carmichael," Charlie said impressed.

Veronica shrugged, "Eh. I was just playing – the sugar isn't flavored, textured or anything, just a basic exercise to test and see what I had to work with. When I get going – all the stops are going to be pulled out."

Mr. Wonka stood from his inspection and clapped his hands together in anticipation, "Outstanding! What do you have for us?"

She switched off the heat lamp and led the way to the conference table where her notes were laid out. Both Mr. Wonka and Charlie perked up at the pictures she had printed out of the samples of aboriginal artwork.

"This looks remarkably similar to the Oompa Loompas work," Charlie noted to his mentor, sliding one particular goddess figure to Mr. Wonka.

"Similar – but not quite the same."

"I did my research into the area where you indicated where the Oompa Loompas were from, figuring that if I got an idea of what symbols or figures they valued, I could design something that would hold deep meaning to them," Veronica explained. She slid other samples of native work from the surrounding area. "The Machi-Machi tribe for example, uses fish symbols, and water to indicate the importance of the role of each in the day to day life – they're fishermen. "

"This one is...rather unpronounceable to me… but they hold the breadfruit sacred since it is their primary source of food – although there are also carvings of monkeys and other animals would see in the surrounding jungle.

She leaned forward, "What is it that the Oompa Loompa hold sacred. What is something particularly special to them?"

"Cocoa Beans," Charlie said, excited. "Mr. Wonka actually pays them in cocoa beans."

Veronica raised her eyebrows and grabbed a pencil in excitement, "Really? Mr. Wonka, could you please explain?"

Feeling rather defensive all of a sudden, Willy fidgeted with his cane for a moment before answering. "The cocoa bean was something that an Oompa Loompa was likely to come across maybe once or twice a year. What they primarily subsided on were green caterpillars and grubs."

"Weren't they able to hunt or cultivate crops?" Veronica asked, scribbling rapidly.

"No – they're too small. A full grown Oompa Loompa is never more than 30 centimeters tall."

She stopped scribbling and looked up at him, puzzled. "What about Orville and the other workers here today?"

Willy froze, shocked. "How do you know Orville?"

"He invited me to come up here when they were finished. Orville helped me set up the code to get in here – why else did you think I was in here?" Veronica was still puzzled.

Charlie was equally puzzled and looked to his mentor for explanation.

"Those were indeed Oompa Loompas, Ms. Carmichael," said Willy slowly, thinking with lightning speed. "Orville was supposed to leave you a note explaining how to set your code yourself. I wasn't aware you had been approached."

"I provided my workers the means to disguise themselves to be able to come here to fix up the place. They are normally very shy. I wonder what possessed him." He smiled with the plastic expression that did little to hide the horror in his eyes.

Veronica felt the sudden need to defend Orville's actions. "He was quite polite – I made sure to thank him properly."

"How?" asked Charlie – seeing that Willy was frozen with a rictus grin on his face.

"Well, according to what I discovered, I bowed when I thanked him and gave him a gift – chocolate-covered espresso beans."

Willy seemed to thaw and relax - he breathed a deep sigh of relief. "You did the right thing, although presenting Orville with the beans was an excellent touch. That is a high honor indeed."

"Did I do something wrong? Is Orville in trouble?" she asked anxiously, a thin crinkle creased her brows as she wrung her hands in alarm.

"No! No. This was just very unexpected. They're very mischievous when irked and tend to be very protective of me." Willy explained. _What were they thinking exposing themselves like that to an unknown person._

Veronica relaxed by inches and nervously clearing her throat offered, "Would you care for something to eat or drink? I just restocked the larder."

"Hot chocolate?"

"Only if you're prepared to wait – I don't do the pre-packaged stuff."

"I'd think less of you if you did. Charlie?"

Charlie glanced at his wristwatch. It was starting to get late and he did have school tomorrow – and Willy and Ms. Carmichael seemed like they were just getting started.

"I'd love to, maybe next time. I need to get back soon."

Ms. Carmichael nodded and started to leave the office, pausing to shake Charlie's hand once more. "Charlie – it's a pleasure to have met you. I hope to see you again."

Charlie shook the warm hand and noticed the texture under his hands seemed different than a hand should feel. He glanced down and saw a fairly normal looking hand, but the palm and fingers were heavy with scar tissue. Veronica noticed him looking and sighed – giving the boy a patient look. "Yes, it did hurt – no it doesn't now. It happened a long time ago."

Willy glanced up from where he was perusing her sketches. What had Charlie noticed?

Charlie eyes shone with sympathy, glancing at the many colors of purple and puce her eye had faded to.

"You've had a rough time. I'm sorry it happened."

She gave him a sad smile – a deeper shadow of some emotion haunted her eyes, "So was I. But I turned it to my advantage."

Rather than give further explanation, she turned and punched in her PIN to leave the apartment.

Charlie turned to regard Willy whose expression was inflamed with curiosity.

"Her hands are all scarred. It's pretty thick, if I hadn't shook her hand I'd never have noticed."

Willy looked puzzled, "I didn't notice anything."

Charlie shrugged, "Maybe you didn't notice because of your gloves?"

Willy let the matter go for the moment. "Go ahead and take the Wonkavator back. I've got a remote-call button when I need to head out. Good night Charlie! I'll let you know what progress we make tomorrow over breakfast."

The young man clasped his shoulder in farewell and left. A few moments later, Willy heard the thrusters firing and a dim reflection of light could be seen from the windows of the surrounding building. He returned to his studies of designs – but found his concentration divided.

What was it about Veronica Carmichael that tugged his thoughts from their proper course?

--

Veronica allowed the milk to steam for a few minutes – allowing the liquid to absorb the subtle flavors of select spices. The chocolate would be added last – lest the additives overwhelm the taste of good melted chocolate.

She had hoped that Charlie would have missed the scars. Nothing to help it though, she just hoped that her casual dismissal of the cause distracted him. It was something she didn't like to talk about and just hinting at it now made her temples throb. She was truly tired after more than 24-hours straight, and her hands were shaking with exhaustion and the effort of steering clear of emotional landmines.

Time. She quickly poured the hot chocolate into warmed mugs and added a few buttery cookies to the tray. Adding a few napkins, she carried the tray out of the apartment, juggling for a moment to lock the door. The trip up the stairs only took a few moments, and she entered the office to find Mr. Wonka intently studying her papers.

She placed a napkin on the table and the hot mug on top of that. Mr. Wonka indicated one of her designs, "This one has promise, but we need to use a cocoa bean theme."

Veronica frowned, "You know, I don't think I've ever seen a cocoa bean – processed chocolate, but not the whole actual bean."

Mr. Wonka indicated the computer on the counter. "You've got internet on this – I need to show you something anyway." He sipped the hot chocolate hurriedly, then paused – head tilted, then went back for another sip before washing it from cheek to cheek and swallowing. "Cardamon, cinnamon and ..red pepper?"

"Yes."

"Good. I've still got it." He gave her a cheeky grin and bounced to the computer. The spinning golden "W" on the purple background dropped away to reveal a typical desktop screen. He indicated she should come closer and she hovered nervously over his shoulder.

"Now this is a function not found on your typical laptop." Mr. Wonka clicked on a phone icon and a new screen popped up scrolling numbers before going black. There was a pause and then video of a rather grand looking office chair behind an unforgivably cluttered desk appeared.

Mr. Wonka giggled nervously, "Heh! I really need to get that cleaned up."

Seeing a calendar from March 1992 of a kitten hanging from a line with the words, "Hang in there, baby!" Veronica had to agree.

"This is a direct satellite linkup between this computer and my factory. You should be able to contact me if I'm not able to get over here."

"Why not just use a cell phone with camera capability?"

"Not secure enough."

Clicking the program closed, his fingers flew across the keyboard pulling up information faster than she could blink. Soon a picture of a cocoa bean was up on the screen, and she scrabbled with a pen to sketch the lines before her.

"This is a Madagascar-Kenyan hybrid. It's one of the largest out there, although not really that potent, so I only use a small percentage. For our uses, however, it's the best way to make out the typical characteristics of the bean."

Veronica's mind was ablaze with new ideas upon seeing this new form. She bantered ideas back and forth for hours with Mr. Wonka, sketching, arguing and finally coming to an agreement of basic structure. A giant cocoa bean, outlined only in the starkest terms with arching bands to form an outline of the beloved legume. It would take practice and experimentation to work, but she was confident it would come together.

Mr. Wonka seemed ready to go for a second round over color and flavoring when a wide yawn popped her jaw. She blushed in embarrassment, "Excuse me."

"No, no. I apologize to you dear lady, I fear I've kept you from your rest too long. Sometimes my enthusiasm gets away from me," Willy climbed to his feet and stretched his arms up over his head.

"I should really be getting back to the factory. I need to get a few hours of sleepy time before starting all over again."

She nodded – amazed at the amount of work they had managed to get done. "Me too – I missed last night because of brainstorms."

Gathering their notes, Mr Wonka, almost shyly remarked, "Your eye doesn't seem to have swollen up much from yesterday."

Veronica had to laugh, "Ice. I put plenty of ice on it and it seemed to have done the trick. I've got some make-up to cover the colors though to keep questions down."

"I'm not sure whether or not to be alarmed or impressed that you know that."

"Reggie and Spencer seemed impressed – although I did blame the bike and not you. Reggie hasn't gotten it out of his system that my honor needs no defending."

"On that note – I will bid you a fond adieu, Ms. Carmichael." Mr. Wonka took her hand and graced the air over it with a courteous kiss.

She laughed and opened the door for Mr. Wonka to leave. 'Parting is such sweet sorrow?"

"You got it, toots! Nighty night."

He disappeared up the stairs and a she heard the Wonkavator blast off yet again that night. _Hope the neighbors don't complain._

_--_

_Mssrs. Hemminway and Wood were thrilled that their old property on the wrong side of town had been bought for three times its worth. The real estate market had not only been depressed – it was suicidal. Even if the odd offer in the middle of the night had been unexpected, it had also paid out as soon as the banks had opened in the morning. The business partners decided to celebrate the sale and office Christmas Party in style this year. A lavish party for a few select friends was the best way to bring in the holiday season._

_They contacted Dolce La Vita to cater the party – Mr. Brahm was more than willing to offer a discount when they told him what had happened to his former employee._


	10. Chapter 10

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. Negotiations are ongoing with the Oompa Loompas for work in exchange for chocolate-covered espresso beans. Mr. Turpik-Ra indicates however, they are also willing to reduce the amount of beans in exchange for cases of Red Bull and a shot on, "America's Best Dance Team." What hell hath Willy Wonka wrought? – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 10**

The next two weeks flew by – marked by long hours and daily teleconferences that stretched into the wee hours of the morning. Both individuals gradually relaxed enough to start calling each other by their first names and gradually a light flirting tone colored their conversations.

--

"I'm working on an additive to make the sugar more flexible – frankly, the shatter rate for most of these designs are heinous." She'd explained, breathless with the speed of which the words were pouring out of her."

"I'd be shattered if we got it there, only to have it break before we could present it," Willy said, shooting a rubber band at Charlie off-screen.

"Yes, it would be a shitter if it shattered." She fired back.

"Indeed, it would be a shitter if it shattered because it shuddered while shuttered. The shatter wouldn't have mattered if we'd have considered the batter better." Willy drawled, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"You win."

--

Discussing the project soon led to other topics. Movies, books, music, pet peeves – all were common ground for sharing and arguing over. Willy mentioned candy in the making and she would mention updates on Reggie and Spencer. Willy found the relationship with her brother and his lover fascinating, and was secretly envious of that kind of devotion. He also found his spirits uplifted by Veronica's sly sense of humor and witty repartee.

--

"Honestly, does it really matter if a white dress is present if neither one of the people getting married is female?" she complained, not for the first time.

"What's the rationale, again?" Willy asked.

"Bad luck. As the token female in the ceremony, why should I have to wear the dress?"

"Because you would look better in it than either of them?"

"Yes, but Spencer's got better legs than I do – I've been telling him to wear the bloody dress."

"Even though I've never met them, I shudder at that particular thought."

"I have met them, and I still do."

"Ew."

--

Charlie found time to visit Veronica every couple of days on his way from school and she made sure to have enough treats on-hand (other than candy) that a teenage boy could find appealing. He quickly found himself as courier for the two plotting confectioners. He delivered samples of flavorings that Veronica would work into samples to be sent back to Willy at the factory.

It was Charlie's idea of making the structure more of a 3-D image than either of the two beleaguered candy-makers. The young man quickly programmed in a simulation on the computer of what he meant and the stunned silence on both ends of the communication was more than gratifying.

"Okay Charlie, you definitely earned a cookie on this one." Willy had said in an admiring voice.

--

It was during the second visit to the working kitchen that Veronica was showing Willy some of the properties of her special sugar recipe that she had recently developed that allowed her to manipulate it at a lower temperature. They were molding the pieces like play dough.

Willy rolled a head and placed it on a spindly body, "I've got some flavoring issues I need to bring up – I'm not sure what we've thought up so far is going to work."

Veronica finished her 'dove in flight' and placed it down on the counter with a thump – then took malicious glee mashing it back into a ball, "We've eliminated cinnamon, peppermint, coffee, toffee, berry, banana, vanilla and now chocolate. There's no way in hell I'm going to use broccoli – no matter how much you say you have left over. What's left?"

"I'm not sure some of those are actually out – I'm thinking of a combination. Charlie came up with a good one the other day - coffee/toffee/chocolate."

"Good lord. Getting the proportions right on that would be a nightmare. Not something I can do on this end."

"Yeah, I know. I'll have to blend it at the factory – I'm not sure, but I think they're starting to suspect something."

"You should probably just tell them we're having a flaming love affair – that would explain the long hours over here and the time we spend talking," she regarded her lump discerningly and poked it with one long finger.

"How about a rich red-brown with highlights of purple to compliment the flavor?" she asked.

Silence.

She looked up when he failed to answer. The Chocolatier was frozen mid-movement, violet eyes wide and unseeing at the figurine in his hands, "Willy?"

Willy was lost in thought. A love affair? Contrasting feelings careened wildly in his stomach and chest. He had realized that she was an attractive woman – he'd be blind if he didn't – and that their working relationship had relaxed into something he'd be willing to classify as friendship. But love? He had to admit that the thought had some appeal, but fear was also a powerful motivator.

The isolated man was subject to ancient and powerful forces battling each other–otherwise known as the head and well…not the heart, but somewhat lower and peripherally involved. His baser instincts howled to life and Willy's head was horrified by the trains of thoughts careening wildly through his mind. Somehow a heavy base beat porn soundtrack floated through his head adding a nightmare dimension to it all.

Willy slowly returned to reality to feel the object of his thoughts yanking on his coat sleeve.

"Are you there? Should I leave a message? Tap once for yes, twice for no, or three times for more hot chocolate." Veronica was becoming alarmed at his pale features, well, more pale than normal.

"Sorry – just something you said took me off guard." Willy said quietly. He rose to his feet and paced nervously.

"About the love affair? I do apologize – I didn't mean to offend you. I overstepped boundaries and I'm sorry." She was saddened and embarrassed. Willy was a wonderful friend and employer – she had enjoyed their time together. "If it makes you feel better, I'll make up some story about being involved with a long-distance boyfriend named Raoul who's doing charity work in the Congo – only he would have to be devoured by savage flesh-eating monkeys after getting ambushed by rebels."

"Actually, it's a great idea."

He glanced at her shocked face, "I mean, telling the Oompa Loompas that we're seeing each other. A grand all-encompassing love affair – although it wouldn't be true. It's just work. You're just a working friend. Not that you're unattractive or anything – because you're quite beautiful – I would be so lucky. I mean, if we were…like that…but it's not, so it isn't."

He sputtered to a stop and blushed.

"Okay. I'm going to be merciful enough to stop you there before you dig yourself in any deeper. If I were a mean woman, I'd leave you to dangle," she smirked at the disconcerted Chocolatier. "I do understand what you mean, and I appreciate your friendship." Veronica was laughing at the frantic expression on the man's face. This was too priceless.

He relaxed and assumed his abandoned seat. "Oh. Good!"

"…For a price." She smirked at him.

For a moment, Willy regarded her, studying her features with a serious expression and an air of disappointment around him. She grew uneasy under his gaze. "What? Did my make-up rub off? The bruise is nearly gone, just yellowish…"

"What is the price for your silence?" He asked in a low voice, his eyes shuttered, tone flat.

Veronica suddenly realized what he must have thought and gasped in alarm. She was ashamed of herself for manipulating the velvet-clad man like this – teasing him on a sensitive topic. Especially after what he had revealed about his life and what was held near and dear to his heart. She'd never betray that trust!

"Willy, no! Nothing like that! I just need a favor from you. Reggie and Spencer are going through with the bonding ceremony next weekend. I was wondering if you would be my date."

The butterflies were back and fluttering madly. Secret hope flared in his heart and his...not heart purred in satisfaction. Was she really interested? Willy had feared the worst when she asked for a price – memories of nearly losing his factory and his secrets still deeply scarred his psyche. He was relieved at her words, but still in turmoil about what she was asking.

"Date?! You want me…I mean you and me…together…out?

"If you're not comfortable, that's alright, I'll go solo. I just thought that since you were making such good strides coming out of the factory, this might be a good stepping stone," she was starting to babble, desperate to smooth over the situation.

"It won't mean anything beyond two friends having fun at a party – I know they'd be tickled to death..."

"How many people? I hate big crowds." Willy frowned at her.

Sensing weakness, she continued, "Only about 25 or so – all friends of Spencer and Reggie's from the theater district – you're going to fit in just fine. There's a chance that one or two celebrities that have stayed in touch might be there so they're hiring security for the event. Absolutely no press, I promise."

Willy waffled. He pondered the matter – still studying her face. Veronica was biting her lip in apprehension, brows creased in concern. He found his attention returning again and again to those small white teeth worrying the flesh of her mouth – the succulent, pink flesh…

Jerking his eyes to hers, he nodded suddenly, "Alright. I'll do it. But I want a promise that I'm not going into a hostage situation. If I want to leave after an hour, no guilt trips. Promise?" He glared at her sternly.

"Promise! Thank you Willy." Her hazel eyes lit up in pleasure and Willy found himself turning to his project in self-defense. If she knew the hold that she was developing on him…

"Now – the colors…"

--

Victor had a throbbing headache. The cause was primarily from the overindulgence of champagne at a cocktail party the night before, but it was aggravated by one person…

…Veronica Carmichael.

He snapped at an associate chef in the kitchen and the man skittered away as if whipped. Victor was to be avoided at all costs when he was like this. Rumor had it that a former souse-chef from Japan had committed seppuku when he had unwittingly popped his head into Victor's office during an episode and had his dignity shredded with blisteringly accurate personal insults.

Victor stalked the kitchen, looking for further victims. How had she managed to land such a lucrative contact with _Willy Wonka_ of all people? The money he had personally lost for hosting that stupid holiday party for the former owners of her building was a small price to pay for such important information. The fact that the elusive Chocolatier had bought out the building just so he could renovate the building for _her_ purposes…

…utterly galling.

The little tramp had probably salivated at the opportunity to get such a powerful man under her thumb. She hadn't fallen to his charms because she was already eyeing the bigger prize.

Victor noticed that a container of chives hadn't been replaced properly and was sitting open on a countertop without anyone nearby. In fury he flung the offending container across the room to smash into the while tiled wall.

"Who the fuck left that there? I will not tolerate sloppiness in this kitchen," he bellowed.

People scattered. Smoke breaks, sudden bathroom stops, or just plain running for the hills ensured that Victor was left alone for the moment. Satisfied that everyone knew their place, he stomped into his office and slammed the door.

There was no way in hell he was letting that snide little bitch get away with this. Willy Wonka should have approached someone more worthy of the honor – like him.

Motivated with the thought of revenge he lifted the phone and dialed an all-too familiar number.

"Jake's body shop," answered a tired male voice.

"Jake? It's Victor." He leaned back and put his croc-clad feet up on the desk.

"Vic! Long time, no call. How's the business?" Jake laughed.

"Pretty good for a kid from Hell's kitchen. Did you like that last case of crab puffs?"

"Loved it man! Could also do with some of those pepper and cheese stuffed portabellas that you had last year. My wife loved those."

Victor smiled; Jake was right where he needed him, "I'll be glad to Fed-Ex some over before the weekend. How's business in the body shop?"

Jake, aware in the change in Victor's tone said evasively, "Doing okay – you have some business for me?"

"Might. I've got an associate with issues. Remember Veronica?"

"The hot red-head with the smoking bod? Oh, man! Do I remember her…"

"She's got some problems that need to get hammered out."

"Really? Well I might be able to fit her in. Is she going to be really picky about how I fix her up?"

"I don't think so. She just needs some body work and maybe a tune-up."

He could hear Jake sigh in anticipation, "Bodywork, huh? How about sometime in the next two weeks?"

"Sure."

"I'm not sure what to charge you for this one. I've been thinking about her for a long time."

"You'll be doing her a favor. Consider the portabellas a nice tip on top of the tab. I'll even throw in a case of nice Chablis."

"You're the best Vic! Talk to ya later."

"Later, dude!" Victor hung up, satisfied that Jake would handle business.

--

Three o'clock in the morning – _why was it always 3 a.m.?_ Veronica wondered to herself as she was jerked awake from yet another nightmare. She laid in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as she felt the cold sweat dry on her body and her heart rate return to normal. She swung her legs to the floor and sunk her head into her hands, her seawreck of tangled hair hanging around her face, sticking to the back of her neck.

She painfully pulled herself to her feet, muscles complaining at the effort. She felt like she'd been running a marathon while carrying a body – such was the exhaustion that washed over her. Veronica staggered into the bathroom to gulp the glass of water sitting by the sink.

Her stomach knotted suddenly and the hot taste of acidic bile filled the back of her throat. Warning received, she suddenly lurched for the toilet and threw up noisily.

After a few painful dry heaves, the urge subsided and she sank to sit by the side of the toilet, resting her head on folded arms.

This had been going on for years. Panic attacks, nausea, nightmare-ridden sleep. All the signs of post-traumatic stress syndrome for the event she had tried so desperately to push to the back of her mind – to forget.

Veronica turned and stretched a weak arm to the sink where the glass of water sat. She forced herself to sip the liquid, washing away the foul taste and hydrating her dry throat and mouth. She swirled the remaining amount in her mouth and spat it into the toilet before flushing the mess away.

Shaking, she managed to climb to her feet to look into the mirror. Grey complexion, dark circles around her eye, only emphasized more on the side where the remains of her black eye were fading. Her eyes looked dead - the glassy stare of a junkie making the color flat institutional-shade beige. Her hair was the only splash of color and it was lank and lifeless. God, what a mess.

"You're a real beauty, you are," she cooed sarcastically to her reflection.

The nightmares had faded to once or twice a month until she started working for Willy Wonka. Then over the past week alone, they had flared up until she was getting a couple of hours of sleep a night. Even that wasn't restful – dark dreams, memories and fantasy mixing to ensure that she felt stretched to her snapping point.

The dream always started the same way. Sensual wandering hands in a safe setting, her bath, bed or while she was working in the kitchen – skirting fingers delicately inflaming her. Veronica had never really seen any details of her mystery lover until this week, when she finally managed to glimpse out of the corner of her eye the source of the tantalizing touches.

They were slim hands in purple latex gloves gently skimming the sides of her breasts.

It was usually at this point when things went to hell. The hands were suddenly grasping, pinching, prodding painfully. She would find her limbs immobilized, terror seizing her throat making it impossible to scream.

Suddenly, the face would appear – Marcus.

His tall broad body would be overblown in terrifying proportions – looming over her like some terrible mountain. Cruel blue eyes gleamed like scalpels at her – his toy ready for him to play with until she broke.

Then she was naked, bound to the table – ankles and wrist chapped, joints aching from uncomfortable positions for far too long – and Marcus would be approaching with the poker, the tip glowing like a gleam in Satan's eye.

It was usually at this point she'd wake up screaming.

Veronica considered herself a bright woman. She knew that her growing attraction to her employer was mixed up with whatever hang-ups about sex as a results of Marcus's treatment. It was her burden to carry, and she considered it a price for surviving – one she gladly paid every night.

Her conversation with Willy this evening was obviously haunting her. His agreement to be her date to Reggie's wedding surprised her. Judging by his expression – it had surprised him as well. The rest of the evening had faded back into the comfortable camaraderie that was growing between them – but every now and then Veronica had caught him considering her with a speculative gleam in his eye.

Irritated, she splashed water on the mirror in the face of her reflection. _Don't complicate things for yourself – life is tough enough_ she chided herself. She splashed cold water on her sunken features and returned to bed, ready for the moment to try and get more sleep.

Crawling back into cool sheets, she curled up on her side, hugging the pillow close to her body. She still craved touch, comfort, but couldn't allow anyone close enough to provide it. Veronica closed her eyes and smiled bitterly. Besides, imagination is usually much better than reality – much safer.

_Still_, as she drifted back to sleep, W_hat would it be like to have a warm body spooned comfortingly around hers, cradling her through the night_?

…_warm velvet - a firm chest - pressing against her cheek…_

…_and smelling of warm peanuts_.

She slept.


	11. Chapter 11

_

* * *

_

I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. The Oompa Loompa have agreed to a one-hour a week house cleaning spree, however the price has turned out to be an arcade version of "Dance Revolution," Hmm…guess I'm going to have to give up my Starbucks habit to save up for one. – Stealth Phoenix

**Chapter 11**

The next few days flew by in bright Technicolor frenzy for Willy. Flustered at the thought of going out with an adult female to a party, he resorted to extensive research – internet, women's magazines, and watching daytime drama on Oxygen Women's network. All led to much more confusion.

He was forced to resort to actually asking someone about it.

"I want Veronica to have a good time, but how am I supposed to be a self-confident sensitive modern man without impinging on her personal growth or disrespecting her accomplishments through inadvertent insult to her femininity?" He sputtered one evening as sat at the Bucket's table watching Mrs. Bucket prepare dinner. "I'm not sure I can handle this kind of stress!" His head sunk into his hands in despair.

The Grandparents seemed to all be in some sort of discomfort – although Grandma Georgina's seemed to be based in the paroxysm of shaking from the others. Grandpa George's eyes were watering especially hard and an occasional snerk of suppressed laughter escaped him.

"Where did you hear that line of hooey?" asked Grandpa Joe in bewilderment.

"Oprah."

"There is so much conflicting information out there. One says, 'Don't be afraid to show your emotions.' Another says 'Emotional fortitude leads to stronger relationships and that showing strong emotion leads your partner to lose respect'," Willy was bouncing with indignation. "My god! No wonder civilization is heading to hell in a handbasket – marriages are down, divorces are up, school shootings are practically an epidemic. Ack!"

Mrs. Bucket seemed only mildly amused, "Willy, most of what you are reading or even seeing is an exaggeration of only one aspect of a relationship.

"But Cosmo says that one of the top ten things for salvaging a relationship is to be a social butterfly – I hate crowds and terrified of meeting new people in a social setting. I'm not going to impress anyone when I vomit on their shoes." Willy's arms were waving around with his aggravation – which grew as Grandpa George finally succumbed to the situation and fell out of bed with a thump, laughing with big braying donkey laughs that caused the others to crack up.

Even Charlie wasn't sympathetic to the plights of the Chocolatier this time. He was laughing just as hard.

Willy just regarded the group with a despondent expression on his face. Fat lot of help this bunch was.

Finally, it was Charlie's father who took pity on the clueless man. "Willy – how much do you really think that all this research you are doing is really helping your cause?"

"Not one bit! I'm just getting more twitterpated and worked up. This is really affecting my work – last night I was mixing up a new flavor of butterscotch gum drops and got to thinking how the color really looked like Veronica's hair – and I ended up dumping Butterwhiskey to the batch instead. I had Oompa Loompas smashed out of their skull staggering around the invention room – one barfed in the Three-course-meal gum machine making a truly revolting follow-up to the tomato soup."

He sighed in frustration. "I received a sharply worded note from the Chief at the apparent ill-health of his people and had to go apologize. Luckily, he was just curious and made me promise to bring the Butterwhiskey to the Exodus Party."

Charlie's father just clasped his shoulder in a show of solidarity, "I know what you mean. When I first met Clara, I collected more bumps and bruises than I cared to count. "

Willy paused and shuddered, "Ew. It's not like that. She's just a good friend. I just don't want to let her down."

Charlie's parents just exchanged a look over Willy's head – he was in such denial.

"Well then, just be yourself as hard as you can and nothing can go wrong dear." Charlie's mother patted the top of his head and set the bowl of mashed potatoes before him.

"Flowers and candy are always a nice touch," chimed in Grandma Georgina.

"Nevermind the femi-nazis, being a gentleman and holding a door for a lady never go out of style," said Grandpa George returning to the bed once more.

"Gravy?"

"Flowers, candy, be myself - but be a gentleman and gravy…got it." Willy said, whipping out his notepad and pencil and scribbling rapidly.

"No, I meant would you like gravy with your meal?"

"I've noticed that girls seem to like to be talked with, not at. Missy Patterson in my class seems to appreciate it," chimed in Charlie, helping himself to the potatoes. "If you just stare at their chest, you tend to get slapped."

Everyone had to pause at that confession and stare at Charlie. His ears started to turn red and he muttered, "Um…Well, that's what I heard."

"If everything else doesn't work – always fall back on the project. It's a safe topic - common ground and all that," said Mrs. Bucket.

* * *

Willy thought that the Buckets had given good advice for the date itself. It would take a heartier soul to help him sort through his feelings for this crazy, yet wonderful woman.

He approached the office of Sheur-Man-Ra, psychiatrist. Sherman had been his therapist for years and his sage advice had yet to steer him wrong. The Buckets were aware that he came to talk to Sherman from time to time for therapy, but they hadn't yet realized Sherman's role in the Oompa Loompa society.

He was their Shaman – hence the name.

As the tribe's wise-man and magician, he had often joked that after mastering the ceremonies and mysticisism of the Oompa Loompa tribe, understanding the "tall" mind was a simple trick indeed. Willy intended to put his knowledge to the test.

Sherman greeted him warmly and invited Willy to make himself comfortable. Ignoring his usual smoking jacket, he elected to sit on the couch and regard the small man.

Sherman raised an eyebrow at the deviance to Willy's usual routine, "Would you care for some tea, Won-Ka?"

"Yes, please."

Sherman rose and plugged in the electric kettle. Neither man said anything until Willy had a mug of Sherman's special blend herbal tea was in hand.

"Ms. Carmichael." Willy sipped his tea thoughtfully and Sherman settled back into his wing-back chair and waited for him to continue.

"We hear that you sought her out and sent crews to renovate her professional kitchen."

"Yes."

Willy said nothing more for a moment, and the psychiatrist waited patiently.

"She makes artisan candy – individual pieces as art."

"Similar interest then."

"Yes." He sipped his tea and felt his muscles relax.

Sherman sighed, this was going to take forever at this rate.

"You feel conflict."

"Indeed. She had grown into a great friend. She's funny, talented, does this really neat flipping thing with her pen when she's distracted…"

"And you want her as a man wants a woman?"

The Chocolatier sighed, trust Sherman to cut to the chase of the matter.

He closed his eyes and let the tea relax him further.

"Yes."

Sherman nodded. He'd had a feeling that this is what was bothering the great man.

"Do you trust her?"

"Yes."

The Oompa Loompa paused. Normally, Won-Ka's trust with the outside world was something that was hard won and easily lost. He must feel something significant for this woman to answer so quickly.

He glanced at the mug of tea. It was half-gone, still steaming gently. Won-Ka knew that his special blend was used for medicinal purposes as well as tribal ceremonies. It had the properties of relaxing the conscious mind and body. Won-Ka was unusually close to his unconscious mind for an outsider, and that is what allowed him great feats of creation. This also meant that he was largely disconnected from his baser instincts – like hunger, thirst, exhaustion and passion.

For someone from the outside to have touched these weakened instincts, Won-Ka must feel very strongly. He must be guided to this realization carefully.

"Tell me of her. What does she look like?" asked Sherman gently.

Willy turned to lie down on the chaise lounge. He placed the top hat on the floor next to him and rested the cane next to it, then moving slowly as if hypnotized, rested his hands on his head with his eyes still closed.

"She's a little shorter than me. Her hair is some color between auburn and chestnut, I can't figure out what to really call it. Her eyes…" Willy paused and opened his own to stare at the ceiling.

"They're hazel – green and kind of a gold…like the frames of old pictures. They tend to shift between colors as she talks."

"That is a rough physical description Won-Ka. I could pick someone with that coloring out of a crowd, but would not recognize her. What makes Ms. Carmichael uniquely her?" Sherman's light rebuke made Willy flush as he realized what the psychiatrist was driving at.

"She's pale – not quite like mine, but more of a porcelain colored. She's too skinny for her own good – she could use a little rounding out. Her eyebrows could use a little work. She's even got these little gold-colored freckles on her nose and cheeks…"

"Won-Ka."

He signed, "Alright! Geez, in a hurry much? It's her…fire. She's just so expressive about whatever she's talking about. I can tell exactly what she's thinking about by her expressions. When she's happy, I feel on top of the world – I want to get up and dance just to see her smile. When I see that something is bothering her, I want to go all cro-magnum and beat up whatever's making her feel that way. "

"I want to reach out and touch her," Willy whispered, his voice thick with longing.

Sherman sat up straight, eyes wide at this information. If Ms. Carmichael was getting through to Won-Ka enough to get through two of his biggest fears…

"She's been looking so worn. I want to hold her and stroke her hair – tell her that I'm there for her and want to help her feel better."

"She sounds like a very special woman. What does she say about all this?"

"I don't dare tell her. It'll just drive her away…"

"Are you sure?"

"Hey. Aren't you the psychiatrist? What do you think she'd say if I came out and told her all this?"

"What is all…this?"

"That …." Willy's eyes widened in sudden realization. All the butterflies, strange urges, occasional nausea – they all added up.

"I'm falling for her."

Sherman nodded in satisfaction. Won-Ka had confronted his troubles only to discover that they were a shadow of his real issue.

"If you are asking me if I think that Ms. Carmichael may return your feelings, I have no basis of comparison and I believe that you would have to ask her how she feels.

Seeing Willy pale dramatically, he hastened to continue, "Or, you can wait and see how it plays out. No need to go rushing into grand declarations without an inclination of her own feelings."

Willy closed his eyes again, and for the first time in many days, felt relaxed enough to drift.

"Oh. Good. Because I've got a date with Veronica in four days."

The Oompa Loompa paused, stunned. "Veronica?"

"Ms. Carmichael?"

Sherman made a noncommittal noise and Willy drifted off to sleep, as he often did after their sessions. The small man slipped out of the room and headed down the hall to the chute that led to the heart of the Oompa Loompa village in the heart of the factory.

His professional face slipped as he dove down the long slide, excitement creased his dark features. What obvious things these outlanders missed.

* * *

Landing on bags of marshmallows at the bottom, Sherman bounced up and sprinted for the center of the village – to the Chief's hut.

Mic-Ka.

Sherman burst in – the chief in his traditional palm frond and shell necklace looked up in surprise.

"Sheur-Man-Ra? What is the great excitement? Is Won-Ka alright?" the man asked in alarm.

Sherman composed himself and bowed in traditional fashion with great respect, "Great Mic-Ka. I bring good news."

Mic-Ka waved his hands in annoyance, "Yes, Yes. Out with it already!"

"Wonk-Ka came to me with heavy heart and shared his troubles with me as is proper."

"Yes, and I know you will not share his troubles for it is not the outlander way."

"Indeed, but he did reveal something I may share with you – as the topic is common knowledge."

"What might that be, Sheur-Man-Ra?"

"The name of the outlander woman that Won-Ka sought out."

"We know that already, Ori-vil brought great honor to the tribe for bringing the name as well as some new kickin' tunes for the exodus ceremony." The chief was growing annoyed with the Shaman.

"Remember that outlander names come in two or three parts – I have the first part."

Mic-Ka straightened up with interest sharpening his features. Oompa Loompa names not only indicated identification, but family ties and occupations as well as status in the tribe. 'Ra' indicated a professional following in the outlander world, 'Man' indicated an honored holding in the tribe. 'Ka' indicated leadership as well as ..not necessarily divinity, but derived of the divine.

The Oompa Loompa had never told Willy what his name translated to – "Divine Savior of Whimsy." It was what had given the tribe the first clue that their beleaguered existence was about to take a turn for the better when the giant outlander had staggered into their village.

When Won-Ka brought Char-Li into their lives, the Oompa Loompa knew it was meant to be. Cha-Li meant, "Follower of the Cocoa Bean."

A whole name would indicate a great deal about the woman who had captured their savior's attention.

"Ver-Oni-Ka." announced Shur-Man-Ra.

The chief hissed between his teeth at this revelation. This was a powerful name indeed. Roughly translated into the language of the tribe, it meant "Divine Light of the Heart."

This was an unusual turn so close to a prestigious date.

Shuer-Man-Ra nodded as he followed the chief's train of thought, "This is a great omen."

"Continue to offer Won-Ka guidance in their silly outlander way. However, you must convince him to bring Ver-Oni-Ka to the Exodus Ceremony. If this is an omen, then it will play out there and nowhere else," the chief ordered, standing suddenly. "Send Nei-Vil to me immediately – we must start to prepare!"

This was truly the season of great changes.


	12. Chapter 12

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. Tupik-Ra has reviewed the story thus far and agrees that I am portraying Oompa Loompa customs and cultures in a positive light. Yay me! We're going to get a little darker here - time to start earning that M rating folks. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 12**

At the same moment that Willy was dropping into a deep sleep, Veronica was feverishly working not to do the same. She sat, hunched uncomfortably on a stool, over the countertop. Her hands tingled with a painful pins and needles sensation and she paused in the delicate work to shake it out.

It was the most delicate work she had ever done to date, building a music box motor out of tempered sugar. Every tiny piece had to be forged, sprayed with preservative, filed to perfection and finally placed with tweezers into the tiny compartment that would sit at the base of the giant cocoa bean sculpture.

More pieces had shattered in the process than had not – multiple disassembled music boxes provided her guidance – but also taunted her. She _would_ make this happen.

It was the sound made by the sculpture at the competition that had given her the idea. The horror of the shattering had passed, and for months she had reflected on the sound made as it crashed to the ground - like glass wind chimes.

Veronica's conversations with Willy had inspired her to these insane heights of creation. _No one was crazy enough to attempt this_, she thought to herself.

She was painstakingly punching holes in a slender ribbon of candy, trying to hum the song under her breath to make sure the notes were in the right place as it passed over the microscopic tong that provided the musical note.

Then it shattered when it got to the lowest note – again. Veronica resisted the violent urge to throw the tiny tools across the room an instead set them on the velvet jeweler's cloth with infinite care. Then she stood and stretched – her eyes burning from the long hours focusing on such tiny work. The dark shadows of the kitchen seemed to gobble at the small circle of light upon her attention had been fixed.

She sighed and switched off the light and was immediately plunged into deepest night. She felt comfortable enough walking across the room to the keypad where the she keyed in her code from memory and heard the door open with a "snick".

The tired artist trudged down the flight of stairs to her apartment moving as if in a coma. Carefully locking the door behind her, she turned to regard the plain apartment – candy globes gleaming in the scarce light. Ignoring the lights, she decided to take a shower to try and relax before crashing.

Realizing how tired she really was, Veronica decided to take a special measure to ensure sleep. Flipping on the bathroom light she opened a bottle of Tylenol PM, took two and swallowed them with a glass of water from the sink. She turned on the water, minutely adjusted the temperature to just shy of scalding and pulled the knob to activate the shower. As the water warmed, she quickly stripped and stepped in, yelping from the heat. She quickly closed the curtain and stood under the deluge with her eyes closed.

Veronica finally let herself think about what she had been avoiding all day with her frantic – frankly idiotic – work to make a music box motor for the sculpture.

She was starting to suspect that she had deeper feelings for Willy.

_Let's see…would I feel badly if I never saw him again?_

The thought weighed heavily on her heart confirming that she would.

_Do I really care about what he thinks or feels?_

Most assuredly – it was the conversations that punctuated the end of the day that kept her going. His ever-present cheerful self, his enthusiasm and light-hearted way of seeing the world was a relief.

Veronica braced herself, placing palms flat against the wall and tilted her face to the spray. Now for the really hard question…

_Do I think he is attractive?_

Conflicting feeling bubbled up. Lust and fear made for a nauseating mix. She forced herself to swallow. Taking deep breaths – concentrating on not inhaling water instead, she took a moment to quell the conflicting emotions and try to establish their root.

It was the force of spirit that really appealed to her. His beautiful way of looking at the world in all of its horror and pain and seeing only the beauty and ways to make it a better place. Most people would classify it as childish - but she knew intimately that there was a difference between willful innocence and selfish self-absorption. She could imagine spending years with this man and still not really touch his depths.

Yes, she was desperately attracted to the Chocolatier. His shining hair and dancing violet eyes appealed to her. His lean body concealed in its velvet and silk-blends was hard with muscle and moved with grace and economy of movements. She could all too easily imagine it moving in other more intimate ways with her.

Veronica remembered the cool strength of his hand as it cradled her chin regarding her black eye - the silent intensity in those amethyst eyes. She longed to feel him pressed closer, to feel that marble flesh… she wanted to feel more, see more.

He would be beautiful in moonlight, she thought leisurely. She stroked her own skin with light tantalizing touches, like in her dream. She could imagine his pale naked skin reflecting the cool moonlight, shadows highlighting tantalizing dips and curves of his form – long lean limbs lightly peppered with dark lacy hair thrown out in delighted abandonment. She could feel the strands of his soft mahogany hair brushing across her face as she leaned over to run her tongue along the salty-sweet column of his throat. Violet eyes darkening with rising passion, strong arms reaching, pulling her closer…

…crushing her in his grip. Large hands leaving dark bruises on her pale skin…

Panic welled at that thought and Veronica gasped and yanked her hands from their idle stroking of herself.

Trapped in the flashback, she remembered Marcus, his hard body pressing against hers, crushing the breath from her lungs, smothering her into the mattress – the way blackness pressed against her vision as she fought for consciousness.

Veronica forced herself to draw a long slow breath and pressed her hands into her solar plexus, feeling her diaphragm rise and fall. She concentrated on the sensation of the hot water beating against her skin and forcing tense muscles to relax. The Tylenol PM was starting to work, her limbs were shaking with exhaustion and the aborted panic attack and she reached for the shampoo/conditioner to give her hair and body a quick scrub before she collapsed.

Utterly weary of yet another episode of her dysfunction, Veronica tried approaching the subject from a different angle.

What kind of dancer would Willy be?

Thanks to Reggie's coaching, she wasn't as bad as she used to be, but considering that Willy had been isolated from popular culture for the last fifteen years – did he even have a clue what he was getting into?

She'd seen his antics, and she'd caught him jamming to music off her I-Pod more than once. He'd hurriedly sit down or pretend to be stretching when he'd noticed her presence, but the man could move if he wanted to. Willy had a good sense of rhythm and if he could relax enough at the upcoming festivities, he would have a good time.

The water was turning colder by the second, so Veronica rinsed quickly and shut of the water. She drooped in place, carelessly throwing out an arm to snag the ratty towel to dry herself. Flipping off the light and shaking, she wrapped the towel around her body and staggered into the bedroom, the siren lure of sleep too much to ignore any longer. She collapsed onto the bed hoping that she'd finally worked herself into true exhaustion and her last movement was to pull the blanket over her chilled body before dropping off into sleep.

She did not dream.

--

Outside the building, the streetlights gleamed off of the few parked cars that lined the road. One was occupied. Jake noted the time the light had switched off in the bathroom. As the sole occupant actually living in the building (against code, he might add) it had been easy to track her movements throughout the night – she'd shut off the light in the upstairs work studio and less than five minutes later, the one in the bathroom flipped on.

The building itself was cakewalk to get into – he'd already done so. Simple locks were no challenge to him and while she was upstairs, he'd crept in and explored her apartment at length, getting a feel for when the opportunity would arise to "meet" with her.

Not proud of himself, he did take the time to explore her medicine cabinet and lingerie drawer at length. No birth control, prescription medication or sex toys – plain jane underwear and bras. This was a woman with no prospects in her life and not looking for any. That was alright, he was more than willing to provide them anyway.

Cabinets were fairly bare and one bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey was still mostly full completed the impression that Veronica was a quiet mouse of a woman who wanted to fade into the wallpaper.

Jake pondered what she could have done to piss Victor off so much, but knowing his friend like he did, knew that it wouldn't have taken much.

He was just getting ready to leave and was scanning the apartment to ensure that no trace of his presence was left when he noticed the invitation on the refrigerator.

It was to some event this upcoming Saturday night involving someone with the same last name – a brother or cousin probably. A fag, judging by the other name as well.

_A bonding ceremony – how cute_, he sneered.

He'd quickly memorized the details and left, re-locking the door behind him.

As Jake sat in the car, he planned. He figured that when the cute redhead returned from this event, she gave every impression of returning alone. He would just have to ensure that she had company when she returned. He smiled grimly at the prospect. The uptight bitch would get loosened up and learn a little in the process.

The phone in the passenger seat rang and Jake picked it up with a smile.

"Hey honey! Yeah – I'm just finishing up. I'll be home in a bit. Do I need to grab something…toilet paper? Okay. See you soon. Love you too. Bye."

Time to head home. Business would finish up here Saturday.


	13. Chapter 13

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. Apparently there has been some disagreement between the Oompa Loompa and Mr. Wonka about their growing dependence on chocolate covered espresso beans. I'm keeping my head out of this one and can only pray that he doesn't figure out who the supplier is._

– _Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 13**

Veronica frantically searched through her cupboards, looking for anything to make a decent cake out of. It was Saturday afternoon and she had almost completely forgotten about Reggie and Spencer's cake.

_Vanilla? _Too plain_._

_Chocolate?_ Not unless she could get the good stuff, and there was just no time.

_Carrot?_ Get real.

She growled in frustration and began flinging canned goods out of the way to see if there was some hidden treasure lurking in the back.

Nothing.

"Crap!" she swore, slamming the door shut, ignoring the mess for now.

"Is everything alright?" asked Willy's concerned voice from behind her.

Veronica shrieked and spun to face the Chocolatier. He let out his own startled cry and staggered back grabbing his chest. He looked vaguely like some offended maiden in some odd regency romance novel.

"Don't do that!" they said at the same time. Regarding each other, they had to smile.

"Sorry about that – you left the door unlocked and I did knock…" he began

"It's alright – I was just freaking out and missed the knock."

"What are you freaking about? Are you planning a massive donation to the food bank?" He poked a can of peaches with his cane making the can roll toward the kitchen. "If you're cleaning out the pantry trying to get rid of all the 'expired' ones, there's not going to be anything left. Except maybe Twinkies – there's something really creepy about Twinkies."

Willy slipped onto the stool at the counter while Veronica went about the motions of making hot chocolate for him, as had become their routine.

"Archeologist millions of years from now are going to excavate some grocery store somewhere and find those preservative-ridden monstrosities and who knows what kind of perception they're going to build about us from them."

She slid the mug to him and gazed at him with a fond smile, "Judging on the amount of plastic surgery out there and the amount of chemicals that are going in all our food, they'll be able to find quite a few bodies to study - full-sized Barbie and Ken dolls."

The both shuddered at that prospect.

"Freaking?" Willy reminded her, looking at her from over the rim of his cup as he paused to take a sip.

"Oh! Yes! I need to make a cake for Reggie and Spencer for tonight. I completely blew it because I was supposed to make it last night so it would have time to cool, and I was don't have the stuff to make anything decent…" she paused in her rant, hands fluttering in alarm.

"Oh God! I'm going to let them down," she groaned, sinking her head into her hands. "There's no way I have enough here to make something to feed 20 people. I'll have to resort to a flippin' sheet cake from the grocery store! AARGH!"

Charmed at this display of sheer female frustration, he internally clapped his hands in glee. He could fix this.

Trying to be nonchalant, Willy shrugged, "I'll help. Let's take a look at what you've got."

He rose to his feet and glanced at the cans on the floor. "Peaches! That's good…mandarin oranges…" he opened the door of the cabinet and perused the contents thoughtfully. "Hmmm…do you happen to have vanilla, rum, and orange extract?"

"Of course I do. You brought it over during the taste trials and never bothered to take them back."

He nodded in satisfaction, his violet gaze distant then grinned, "How about fruitcake?"

She snorted, "Ew! What are you thinking of inflicting on mostly innocent people with fruitcake?

"I mean making one."

"fruitcake is disgusting."

Willy held up one admonishing finger, "Uh-uh! Not mine. It'll work, and won't take too much time to cool since it's not as dense as most – it also has the added benefit of not having to age."

Veronica held up a hand in defeat, "I bow to the master on this one – I love candy - am a whiz at it, but baking anything beyond doughnuts is beyond my reach."

"How did you survive culinary school?"

"Who said I did?"

Tisking with disapproval, he removed his coat and placing the white apron that was hanging on the back of the pantry door over his black vest, dark sapphire blue pants and lighter blue shirt. Then Willy Wonka took control of the kitchen.

It wasn't a metaphorical change – there was an air of command that wasn't there previously and his movements became sharp and crisp as he selected ingredients, inspected bowls and spatulas, and quickly moved into action.

Veronica had to step back and admire him – his lean body moved and flowed as if listening to invisible music. She quietly removed the cans off the floor and started to return them to them to the pantry when he paused in front of her for a moment. She froze under his intense gaze and for a moment, time stood still. Then he grinned and gently removed the peaches and oranges. His fingers accidentally grazed her breast as took the jar of applesauce from her laden arms and she felt the contact like an electric shock. He blushed and murmured, "Pardon me," before whirling and continuing his precise baking once again.

She stammered, "I…I…n..need to go get cleaned up. Spencer is coming in an hour and a half to help transport. Will we have cake by that point? I can decorate it at their apartment."

Still blushing slightly Willy nodded, "Yes, it'll be baking in just a few minutes and should be cool enough to take over there. If you don't mind taking the Wonkavator, we could use the outside air to get it to the point where you can decorate it without frosting melting."

"Wonderful. Please excuse me," she turned to escape to the small bathroom.

"Flip on some tunes if you're of a mind to," she called over her shoulder.

--

Veronica stepped out of the shower less than 15 minutes later. She had wet, scrubbed, lathered rinsed, declined to repeat; and shaved legs and underarms at lightning speed. It was a personal speed record. The thought that Willy was moving around in her apartment just beyond the door gave her a frisson of chilled delight straight down her spine.

Quickly rubbing lotion on her abraded legs, she heard music playing. She cocked her head trying to place it. Ah, yes. "Black Betty by Spiderbait," she announced with a wide grin.

Veronica hurriedly threw on her underclothes, jeans and a tee shirt before opening the door to let the steam escape in a cloud. She wrapped her hair in the towel and left the bathroom to see what Willy was up to.

He was dancing. He waltzed, glided and rolled his way around the kitchen, apron still on and top hat firm on his head. She could see him mouthing the words and generally getting down with his funky bad self.

She gently cleared her throat and he paused, looking at her with startled eyes. Then, to her surprise, he smirked and danced over to her offering his hand with a courtly bow, "May I have this dance M'Lady?"

With a haughty nod, she gracefully took his hand, and proceeded to ruin the aristocratic bearing by breaking out into the 'cabbage patch'. He grinned and returned with the even more inappropriate 'hustle'. They took turns trying to outdo each other with the most inappropriately horrible dances ever created.

It was as they were both attempting to do the 'electric slide' to "Crazy by Gnarles Barklay" when Spencer walked in – and immediately covered his eyes in horror.

"Oh God! I'm blinded. Your brother is so ashamed of you, young pwdawan."

She laughed and came over to give Spencer a hug. She indicated to Willy, "Spencer Talbot, I would like you to meet Mr. Willy Wonka, my employer."

Spencer was decked out in one of his 'suits' which resembled a Victorian walking out suit in an astonishing peacock blue. He held out a purple clad hand to the astonished Chocolatier. "Mr. Wonka, a pleasure to meet you. I have been an admirer of yours for years."

Willy regarded the hand and the man for a moment before taking it and shaking heartily, "Likewise. I've heard quite a bit about you from Veronica. Love the suit! "

"Thank you. I designed and made it myself. I've got to ask, who is your tailor? I just love your fashion sense."

"It's a private label, but I'd be glad to refer you if you'd like."

Spencer grinned before returning his attention to Veronica with a scowl. "Why aren't you dressed, young lady! The ceremony starts in little under two hours, and you look like you just got kicked out of a Gap ad. What the hell?"

"I got behind on the cake. Mr. Wonka was kind enough to lend a hand. As for the dress - no chance in hell."

"But this is your brother's wedding day, Ronnie! You know how important it is to him."

"Then he should look lovely in it. "

Willy felt like he was at a tennis match. Veronica glared at Spencer, arms crossed over her chest, Spencer glared at her right back.

"I didn't want to do this Ronnie, but you are forcing my hand with your unreasonable attitude." Spencer shook his head sadly and then regarded her with the most pitiful expression on his face.

She quailed. Not Puppy Eyes™!

Willy recognized the expression from Charlie and had to shake his head at the inanity of it all. It was a good thing that he was immune to such blatant emotional blackmail. The woman stood no chance.

"Damn it Spencer! Fine! I surrender. I hope you're bloody happy. Where's the flaming dress?" Veronica was a very sore loser.

Spencer turned and re-opened the door to grab the clothing bag that was hung there.

"Here you go darling. I designed it for oh…what's her name from Spiderman, but she never called back to pick it up or pay. She's got similar coloring so it'll look simply faboo on you." Spencer thrust the dress bag into her arms and started shuffling her into the bedroom to change. She protested vehemently, "But I've still got to decorate your bloody cake! I can't do that in a dress!"

"Bull. Mr. Wonka managed to whip up the cake in full Edwardian attire, you can mange in a skirt and heels. Scoot!"

She slammed the door and Spencer grinned at the Chocolatier. "You know she wants to do it, but won't let herself play. It's my job as the evil fairy godmother to make sure she does."

Willy wisely said nothing. The timer dinged and he turned to oven, slid on the fish shaped oven mitts and carefully opened the door to regard the multiple cakes within. Spencer could smell the heavenly odor of fruit, vanilla and sweet bay rum as Willy slid the cakes, one by one from the oven and flipped them out of their pans onto a cooling rack with a practiced hand.

"Is that it?" Spencer asked watching as Willy opened the window to let the cold November air in and set the cakes on the ledge to cool.

"Yup. It's a fruit sponge cake I came up with improve those nasty Christmas fruitcakes in a can."

"Fairly traditional for the festivities as well." Spencer fiddled with the cuff of his jacket for a moment, ignoring the low stream of cussing coming from the bedroom. "Mr. Wonka…"

"Willy, please."

"Willy, I just want to thank you for everything you've done for Veronica." Spencer glanced at the bedroom door, safely closed. "She's had a hard couple of years. You came along at just the right moment. Although it was apparently a rocky start due in a very small part to me," He had the grace to look abashed, "You gave her back her ability to work, thrive and dream. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you."

Willy looked embarrassed at the praise. "I really didn't do anything but give Veronica a chance. She did everything else herself."

Spencer gave a speculative look at the man, "Ronnie's a special girl."

There was a particularly loud thump on the bedroom door followed by sulfurous swearing.

"Yeah, she's a delicate flower," Willy smirked.

"Now about that black eye…" Spencer hemmed in trying to get the real story.

"…you want her to lick my lolly?" asked Willy arching an eyebrow at the man.

Spencer blushed at the retort, "Point taken."

"Indeed."

The door to the bedroom cracked open, "Spencer! Get your flaming ass in here. You designed this monstrosity; you can help me get in it."

"Duty calls." Spencer gave a nod to the man and went into the bedroom.

--

Veronica had flung clothing everywhere, the closet had apparently regurgitated every shoe she owned onto the floor before it. She stood in a strapless bra and underwear with her arms tangled in the straps over her head. The strange creature with the cloth covered head turned at the sound of the door closing, "Help!" she pleaded flapping her hands helplessly.

Spencer sighed, "It's not this difficult Ronnie – it's a dress, not the ravenous bugblatter beast of Traal."

He gently took the fabric, untangled a limb or two and pulled it down to reveal massively tousled damp hair and a very red face. "There, now on top of dressing you, I'm doing your hair and makeup."

"What are you, my sister?"

"As a matter of fact…"

She surrendered. She had learned her lesson not to cross Spencer when it came to his designs. Veronica had seen him flay actors and actresses alike if they attempted to maul his precious creations. Not that she was innocent of similar protective instincts toward her own creations, but still, multi-million dollar stars had been reduced to awkward children in his rages.

"Now, bend over and flip your hair this way." He demanded, grabbing the blowdryer.

Through much cussing and hair-pulling the hair was dried and smoothed. "This is why I don't bother – as soon as humidity hit it, I'm back to a big orange afro." She complained.

"Then it'll look good until then – now shut up and sit still." Spencer approached her threateningly with tweezers.

"What are you doing? I didn't volunteer for ripping hair out of my face!"

"Tough – I'm not having our best lady show up with a unibrow. Hold still!"

--

Willy had taken the iniative to start making fondant to roll out on top of the cake when the screams of pain and anger rang out of the bedroom. He paused with the rolling pin balanced on one hand, debating on whether or not to offer aid, when Spencer popped his head out and offered a plastic smile.

"No worries, she's just getting ready."

Willy wondered, _do my smiles really look **that** fake_?

"What color fondant for your cake?" Willy offered instead.

"Oooh! Purple and black with some sort of design if it isn't too much of a bother." Spencer trilled and then disappeared slamming the door behind him.

Willy just shook his head and proceeded to add tint, kneading the fondant with rapid movements. He spotted a neat pattern on a plastic sheet for this very purpose and grabbed it. He rolled out the fondant to a thin sheet and then pressed the form into it, making an attractive paisley pattern. He took a tiny puff brush and some black food ink and proceeded to dust the pattern, making the raised portions darken considerably. He blew off the excess and studied the result. _Not too shabby for a short effort_, he decided.

He was just getting ready to bring in the cakes from cooling when the bedroom door opened and Spencer strode out. "Ladies and Gentleman, I give you the fabulous Ms. Carmichael."

Veronica appeared in the doorway. A cream colored dress fell to mid-calf in asymmetrical folds, spaghetti straps held the dress over bare shoulders. The heavily beaded bodice came into a flattering v-neckline and caressed slight curves. She wore simple strappy sandals in a gold color, emphasizing strong muscular legs. Her hair was down to her shoulders and shone with health and various products to keep the frizz down. Her skin was a lovely pale golden sun-kissed hue - colors only brought out by the pale cream of the dress.

The face, although beautiful in its simple makeup, was marred by pink welts around her eyebrows and a scowl. "That hurt, Spencer."

"Beauty is pain," he was massively unsympathetic.

"You're the pain."

Willy fought down his initial reaction. She looked stunning and he felt like Prince Charming first seeing Cinderella at the ball - a mildly psychotic Cinderella who looked angry enough to spit nails. Her passion invoked other feelings which he had thought safely contained. Would she be this passionate in other ways? He found himself involuntarily remembering the brief contact with her breast – how soft she had felt. He blushed as he realized blood was starting to pool in a rather conspicuous location.

He heard himself mummer in a throatier voice than normal, "You look gorgeous."

Veronica's startled gaze fell on him and he felt pole-axed at the intensity in her multi-colored eyes. A delicate flush rose in her cheeks matching the irritated skin on her brows as she dropped her eyes, "Thanks."

"Looks much better on you than it ever would on ol' what'sher name." Spencer declared, content with the presentation of his creation. He was not immune to Willy's reaction to Veronica's appearance. _A little attraction growing here? You can cut the UST with a knife._ He wondered to himself. He was very protective of Reggie's sister and knew of her troubles. _I hope he can be gentle enough to coax her into a relationship – they both deserve happiness._

They were staring at each other, lost in the moment – and it was dragging. Spencer conspicuously cleared his throat to break the trance.

"So, let's finish this cake and boogie, yeah?" Willy asked dropping his eyes.

"Lets." Veronica declared, clapping her hands together briskly.

After all, the evening was just getting started.


	14. Chapter 14

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. I think Mr. Wonka is on to me – I've been getting visits at random times today from singing-telegram gorillas breaking out into "You're No Good!" and "I've Been Watching You." Geez! Give a few Oompa Loompas a couple of chocolate-covered espresso beans and suddenly you're branded a dealer! – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 14**

They worked in silence. Veronica carefully placed each layer as the fondant was laid and pressed into the cake. She quickly decorated with marzipan black satin ribbon around the bottom of each layer where it rested gently on the previous. Willy completed his portion and leaned back against the counter to watch her work.

Veronica's eyebrows were creased slightly as she worked, delicately placing the ribbon and touching up the edges of black ink laid out in the design. Her thin-fingered scarred hands with their short choppy nails were careful not to rest on any point of the care to smear the ink. She poked the wooden skewers into the last layer and carefully, as if crowning a king, placed the top tier on the cake.

She paused, wiping her hands on a towel studying the cake before her. "Beautiful," Veronica murmured before gasping and snapping her fingers.

"What?" asked Spencer, breaking from his trance of watching the two candy-makers at work.

"Topper!" she cried before turning to open the pantry and digging out a cardboard box packed with Styrofoam peanuts. "I made this about a month ago when you first told me the news. Not like I had anything better to do at that point."

She carefully unwrapped two figures in candy glass – two men in a formal dancing position in black and white. The detail was exquisite – you could actually make out tiny facial expressions and fingernails on the figures. They were dressed in old-fashioned tuxedos, clothing draping and creasing naturally.

Veronica carefully placed the figurines on the top of the cake.

"It's a joint effort – Willy did all the work and I prettied it up," she sighed, turning to Spencer.

Spencer was frozen, staring at the cake.

"Spence?" she asked, worried.

He began to sniffle, eyes watering. Willy looked alarmed and ready to run. Veronica shot Willy a concerned look and quickly walked to gather the weeping man into her arms.

"Spencer! Whatever is the matter?" she whispered into his brown hair, holding him close.

"I …it's perfect! I just never thought this day would come," He sobbed. Veronica caught herself rolling her eyes and she could see Willy relax and offer his own shrug of consolation with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, I just guess it never really hit me until now. I'm basically promising to spend the rest of my life with this wonderful man," Spencer started to blubber and she found herself backing slowly away to avoid getting snotted by his unattractively running nose.

Willy tossed her the roll of paper towels from by the side of the sink and she hurriedly ripped one off and handed it to Spencer.

"Get a hold of yourself man. No use blubbering over pastry of all things. Things are going to work out alright – please for the love of Mike stop crying!"

He managed to control himself in short order, "Sorry about that – I've been doing that all week. Reggie's pretty well frustrated with me. Then again, I've caught him getting all misty-eyed himself a couple of times."

Veronica gave him one last hug before returning to the kitchen to wash her hands, "Okay, we got it built, it's beautiful – all approve, but, "she hesitated. "How are we supposed to get the bloody thing over there? Willy, you mentioned the Wonkavator?"

He paused, looking at the cake with a dubious eye. He'd initially thought that the layers would be baked and transported separately, but with the awkward silence thing, they had automatically assembled it without considering transportation. "We'll just have to schlep it up to the roof and I'll fly it over."

"Do you know where the place is?" she asked.

"Not a clue."

"Ronnie, you can ride with me and Mr. Wonka can follow overhead." Spencer offered. He'd saw the _Beyond Tomorrow_ article on Willy Wonka's Wonderous Wonkavator.

Relieved at the thought of not having to share tight quarters with Spencer, Willy nodded enthusiastically.

_Although, the idea of Veronica in there with me and the cake_, his eyes fogged with lust for a moment at that thought. The scantily clad Ms. Carmichael having to press up against him to avoid smashing the cake – better yet, getting a bit of cake on her and having to help her clean it off…with his tongue of course…

"Willy? You ready?" he distantly heard her call.

"Oh yeah!" he breathed lustily. _That little patch of frosting on her clavicle was calling to him…_

"Willy!"

He jerked back to reality to realize he'd been staring yearningly at the cake long enough for Veronica to put on her beat-up black wool coat and sling the ever-present messenger bag over her shoulder.

She was giving him a curious look, and he rushed to one side, ready to carry it out, blushing slightly again at the direction of his thoughts.

"Are you sure you're up to the party this evening? You keep getting flushed. I hope you're not coming down with something." She said, easily lifting her side of the cake. They carried it level between them to the stairs.

"No. Nothing like that." Willy said.

_I'd like to go down with something_… he mercilessly hogtied and gagged that thought and threw it in a mental closet. Willy was starting to panic. What was going on with him? Where were these evil thoughts coming from?

_I'm your subconscious you ninny._

The voice wouldn't be denied, no matter how he tried to suppress it.

_Sure, ignore me for years and then when I finally get a breath of fresh air with the cupcake there, you ignore me. That's not very polite._

Yeah, well. Neither are you.

_Touché! _

They reached the stairwell and discovered that carrying the cake level would be a tricky matter up stairs. The stairwell was too narrow. Veronica stepped up a stair or two and bent over to keep the cake level. "Come on – it's only one flight."

What she failed to realize was the bent angle gave a lovely view of her breasts cradled in the dress to the shell-shocked Chocolatier. As they started up the first step, he also realized that she was showing flashes of toned white thigh with every step.

Oh. Dear. God!

_More like "Thank you God."_

_**Shut it!**_ He snapped at his inner-monologue viciously.

Thinking quickly, Willy yelped, "Wait! This isn't going to work. I need to be on top…"

He trailed off, blushing brightly at what it sounded like.

"Excuse me?" she asked, pausing with one eyebrow raised.

"I mean, I need to go first... t-t-to open the Wonkavator." Willy finished lamely.

She simply nodded and they carefully came back down the steps to trade positions.

This relieved Willy of any more accidental glimpses of her breasts and they were able to wrestle the cake up the stairs and into the Wonkavator with minimal fuss.

"It really is bigger than it first appears," marveled Veronica as the cake rested on the floor and Willy entered the Wonkavator to man its controls.

_Does she even have a clue what that sounds like right now?_ He asked himself desperately.

"I mean, who would have figured that all that would have fit?" she continued, blithely.

_I'll take "Absolutely Not" for 200, Alex._

He choked and coughed for a moment before he could answer. "Yes, well…I'll go straight up and wait until I see which car is Spencer's and follow you from there.

She grinned at him for a moment, concern still coloring her eyes, "Good."

The smile faltered for a moment and she stepped forward. To Willy's delight and horror she pressed one hand to his forehead for a moment, watching his face. He could feel the pattern of scar tissue on her fingers and palm.

"Hmmm…no fever. Are you sure you're feeling alright? You don't have to go if you don't want to."

He could smell the lotion on her skin – something soft and warm like peaches and amber. He was momentarily lost in mesmerizing green-gold of her eyes, but quickly gathered himself and flinched back from her touch.

"I'm feeling dandy. Now, scoot or your ride will leave without you."

He quickly closed the door and she had to jump back as the thrusters fired. She shielded her eyes from the debris thrown up and had to grab the hem of the dress with the other to prevent it from flying up.

Once Willy was safely in the air above the building, he sagged back against the wall.

That was weird.

If this was any indication of how the evening was going to go, he was in for a rough night.

_But highly enjoyable_, chimed in his evil subconscious.

Willy decided at that moment to name the voice Bob – it was an unlikable sort of name.

"Shut up, Bob." He muttered.

He didn't disagree though with the sentiment, however.

--

Jake sat concealed in the car, watching as Veronica came out of the apartment and jumped into the waiting car. She looked pretty good, flashing a lot of leg with that dress and heels. Jake could feel himself tighten with anticipation. All in good time…

The car pulled away from the curb and he momentarily ducked to avoid being seen. _Chippy got a ride to the party_, he thought to himself. He would have to watch for her return – no way of telling whether she'd get a ride back with the same guy. The man driving the car had to be a Poofter with that kind of clothing.

He waited for a few moments and gathered the grey gym bag in the passenger seat next to him, trading it for his cell phone. No use bringing it in with him, something to leave behind or go off at the wrong time. He got out and casually strolled across the street, making his way to the building door. He managed to slip in without any fuss and made his way up to the apartment.

Making himself comfortable, he relaxed and waited.

--

Veronica slumped in the passenger seat. Why was Willy acting so strange? She was growing more concerned as the ride continued.

Keeping one eye on the review mirror, angled to see the Wonkavator following them Spencer asked casually, "So how are things going on the project?"

She said nothing, as she traditionally did to this question. Then out of nowhere she asked, "Spence, is there something wrong with me – well, more so than the usual?"

He glanced over to her; she was staring out the windshield with a blank expression. "You look a bit pale and run down when I first showed up. Why? Something pestering you?"

"Willy is acting weird. Was there something I may have said or done that upset him this much?"

Spencer was not naïve. He could read what was going through Wonka's brain as if it had been written across the sky in 20 foot neon letters. He also possessed more diplomacy than usually credited to him and wouldn't rat out his fellow XY unless tortured.

"He's probably just nervous about coming to the ceremony. I'd imagine that being a witness to two men declaring their undying love for each other is somewhat out of his normal daily routine."

Her answer was a noncommittal grunt.

"Why Ms. Carmichael, I would say you were worried about him," Spencer teased gently.

"Of course I am. He bolts now, I'm out of a job and a butt-load of cash," said Veronica.

"You think he's cute - which he is, darling. If it weren't for your brother I might have made a pass at him myself."

She amused herself with that image for a moment – and could imagine the look of horror before he bolted from the room. "I don't think he swings that way, Spence."

"But I know he swings yours."

Stunned, she whipped around to look at him, "I beg your pardon?"

Spencer casually turned the wheel, making a turn onto the broad street lined with townhomes – his home neighborhood.

"You heard me. The man was eyeing you like you were the last Perrier at a Milan fashion show."

"You must be mistaken," she was shaking with disbelief, her features paling alarmingly.

Pulling into the parking spot, Spencer leaned out the window, looked up at the hovering Wonkavator and pointed at the building that Reggie and Spencer jointly owned. It was the project that ate their savings and kept begging for more – but it was a labor of love in a revitalizing neighborhood. He cut the engine and turned to face Veronica with the most serious expression she'd ever seen on his face.

"Veronica. I know you've gone through the worst kind of hell when it comes to relationships, but I've seen how Willy Wonka looks at you. He cares about you, darling. He's more than a little uneasy at the thought himself - so you are both on even footing there."

Spencer reached out to stroke his fingers through her long hair. "You never really gave yourself a chance to recover from Marcus – and I know it still bugs you. But I think you need to stop jumping at shadows and take a look at what kind of chance lies in front of you."

He kissed her gently on the forehead and unbuckled his seatbelt to leave the car. "Reggie and I love you dearly and only want you to have a chance at the same kind of happiness that we've been able to find. You're a brave woman and we're proud of you. But take the chance. Can you be brave enough to face the possibility that he may love you too?"

Spencer left the thoughtful woman in the car staring at the streetlights.


	15. Chapter 15

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. Willy Wonka apparently can be a sadistic git when he really wants to. When making my morning stop at Starbucks, the cashier keeps giving me this evil smirk. When I finally snapped and asked him what was up, he showed me a "Wanted" poster with my picture on it. Apparently it's been sent to Starbucks around the US with an award for .25. Heh! If he's upset now – just wait. I'm worth a lot more than .25 – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 15**

While Veronica slowly emerged from the car and went to see if her brother needed any help, Spencer had sprinted up to the roof to help Willy take the cake down to the apartment.

He arrived just as the Chocolatier had opened the Wonkavator door.

"Lift on three…ready?" Willy ordered and on three the men lifted the cake from the floor of the glass enclosure. They staggered across the rooftop and Willy suddenly yelped, "Wait!"

Spencer paused and then nearly dropped the cake as Willy suddenly fumbled with one hand in his trouser pocket to grab a key ring of gargantuan proportions. He grabbed a small black plastic square and pushed a red button. The door slid closed and an alarm chirped as it was activated.

"Do you really think that is necessary?" Spencer asked sarcastically. "There's hasn't been a rash of Wonkavator thieves in the neighborhood since the late '70s."

"Heh! I wouldn't want anyone taking off with it for a joy ride. I hate answering UFO questions." Willy said, replacing the keys in his pocket. "The last time a couple of my workers took off with it, I had a devil of a time trying to explain away little green men mooning #10 Downing Street. Mr. Blair was quite upset."

"Are you joking?" Spencer asked aghast.

Willy shot a quick plastic smile in his direction, "Yes. Of course I am – after all, my people aren't green."

Spencer just stared at the other man.

Willy fidgeted uncomfortably and tugged at the cake, "Onward to the party. Let's get this inside."

They carefully maneuvered down the stairs to the second floor and Spencer kicked at the door. It was opened by Veronica who pointed out the small table in the corner to set the cake on. Willy studied the apartment as they walked in. Exposed old brickwork and wooden floors with modern style furniture gave the space an open modern feel. Furniture had been pushed back against the walls to allow more open floor space. He could tell that walls had been knocked down to enlarge the apartment, and a small studio kitchen completed the floor plan. It was a large area.

"How many people are you expecting again?" he asked.

Spencer shrugged. There were a few people already here, stringing up black and white paper crepe ribbons from the central wrought iron chandelier. "About 20-30, we wanted to keep this fairly small."

They set the cake on the table covered with a white tablecloth and Veronica hurried over with a few Asiatic lilies to complete the decorations on the tables. Willy caught her scent again and almost groaned. Bob was growling possessively, but Willy steadfastly ignored him.

"There! Spence - Reggie wants you to check up on the flowers. He's busy with the DJ. Willy, would you like to meet my brother?" She asked, tucking her hair behind her ear to reveal a delicate golden hoop through one lobe.

"I guess. It's only polite, right?" said Willy nervously.

She gave him a sympathetic smile and took his arm to guide him across the room to where a couple of men stood arguing over a computer.

"Reggie!" she called. The taller of the two, dark haired and brown-eyed straightened and turned to face them. He could tell that this was Veronica's brother by the similar facial features. Sharp cheekbones and nose gave him a regal appearance and a warm smile greeted his sister.

"Ronnie! Glad to see the cake made it in one piece. How'd you manage to get it into the hatchback?" he asked in a baritone.

"I didn't. Reginald Carmichael, I would like to introduce my employer and date to this esteemed event, Mr. Willy Wonka." She announced, giving a Vanna White-esque wave to the man at her side.

Reggie's eyes widened in shock, "Willy Wonka? Ronnie you naughty girl – you never mentioned who your date was!"

He offered Willy his hand and Willy paused uncomfortable again. Why did people always insist on grabbing each other?

Steeling himself, he returned the handshake with a plastic smile, "A pleasure to meet you. Congratulations on the wedding."

"Thank you for attending. It's an honor to have you here." Reggie was very smooth, making Willy feel a bit more at ease. Reggie turned his attention back to his sister.

"Ronnie – you look absolutely breathtaking. I knew you would when Spencer showed me the dress."

"I still say you'd look better in it than I would"

"I'm gay, not a drag queen."

"Then explain the collection of plus-sized shoes and makeup."

Reggie blushed and shot an embarrassed glance at Willy, "Please excuse us Mr. Wonka, we don't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Call me Willy, please."

"Ronnie, be a darling and get a drink for Willy and yourself. Our guests should be arriving shortly. Please excuse me. I have to get changed for the ceremony." He rushed off to the kitchen where Spencer was poking at a box of flowers with a dubious expression.

"He seemed nice." Willy commented, gloved hands squeaking on the handle of his cane giving the only evidence of his nerves.

"I didn't want to tell them you were coming. Knowing those two, they would have blown the ceremony beyond any good taste if they'd known you were showing up." Veronica said apologetically. "I figured the less said, the better. That way it you had changed your mind, no one would know anything different."

Touched that she would offer him an out and protect his sensibilities, he gave her an honest grin. "Thank you. I hope I'm not going to be too much of a disappointment as a date. I am rather out of practice at this sort of thing."

She shook her head, "You've made my night by just being here. I don't hope for anything else – I have appallingly low standards."

Not liking the tone of that last statement, he reached out and gently grasped her chin and gave her a stern look, "Nonsense – you are a lovely lady and deserve a gentleman to show you a good time."

_Just how much of a gentleman are you planning on being?_

Shut up, Bob.

Veronica gazed back at him, wondering if what Spencer had told her in the car was the truth. The sincere look in his violet eyes gave credence to his words; the hand in the black latex glove was cool on her face.

"Thank you," she murmured. She gently removed his hand and held it in her own for a minute staring into his eyes before, greatly daring, softly kissing the back of his hand safely encased in his glove.

Willy grinned foolishly for a moment.

_Woo hoo!_

"Would you care for something to drink?" she asked, moving away from him toward the kitchen.

As if attached by an invisible line, he followed, "Um…I guess. I don't normally indulge…"

"How about if I surprise you?" she asked, reaching the wet bar where an army of multi-hued bottles waited. "I'll be gentle."

_Please, don't restrain yourself on my behalf, _Bob purred_._

Willy coughed and could only nod. Bob was going to get him in serious trouble if he kept this up.

As she selected bottles, he took the opportunity to look around. A small crowd was beginning to form, there were a mixture of couples, both traditional and non standing around, admiring the décor. Several gathered around the cake with cocktails in hand, giving critiques. He recognized several from television and movies. Most were similarly dressed in flamboyant styles as himself and he relaxed a bit more as he realized that no one was really paying them any attention.

A slim dark-haired man strolled over to the bar area and gave Willy a tight smile before turning his attention to Veronica. "Excuse me Miss. Are you bar tending?"

She recognized the man, and gave Willy a quick glance – strange how they resembled each other. "I am for right now. It's pretty much fending for yourself. What would you like?"

"If you're fixing, how about a whiskey sour?"

She nodded and slid Willy's drink toward him. "Here, try this out."

He took the drink and sniffed it. Milky liquid floated on top of clear in a small glass, a sweet smell laced with familiar odors reached his sensitive nose. He took a sip and quickly identified the flavors "It's like a peanut butter kiss!"

Blushing slightly, she said, "It's called a Slippery Nipple."

He nearly choked and the other man worriedly thumped his back, "You okay? Swallow the wrong way?"

_She's a minx!_ Bob chuckled.

Willy managed to gasp, "Yeah – just …Wow."

The other man nodded sympathetically and sipped his drink. He turned to Willy and held out a hand, "I'm Johnny. You?"

Hiding his grimace and resigned to shaking yet another hand, he gave a quick shake and released as quickly as possible, "Willy."

"Nice to meet you Willy. You remind me of someone I used to know. I hope you'll excuse me. Miss, thank you for the drink." Johnny nodded politely and returned to a beautiful woman across the room who was talking with a group of people and laughing gaily.

"He looked familiar. Who was that?" Willy murmured to Veronica who had poured herself a glass of white wine.

"Some American actor – apparently he works a lot with one of Spencer's clients. He's pretty popular."

"Seemed nice."

"Yeah."

--

Jake was getting bored. He had pursued Veronica's book shelves, but as he wasn't really interested in the history of confection or John Grisham it was a lost cause. He quickly had exhausted the option of television since she didn't have cable.

He decided to head up to the working space upstairs. He tromped up the metal staircase and discovered the steel door with the keypad with interest. A little B & E would pass the time nicely. He quickly retrieved the grey bag from the apartment and set it down.

Jake crouched and unzipped the bag. Pushing aside duct tape and a ball gag, he took out a strange looking digital display trailing wires with alligator clips on the ends. He popped the cover off the keypad and fastened the clips to wires within. As he worked, he started to grow curious about what kind of project she could be working on for Wonka that warranted this kind of security.

The digital display flashed to life and began to scroll numbers. He waited patiently as the cracker rolled through possibilities. After about two minutes, it stopped. Jake unclipped the leads and secured the cracker back in the duffel bag. Punching in the code, he grinned as the door clicked open – easy as pie.

Jake failed to notice that the green light above the keypad failed to flash to green – in fact a red light was silently flashing. He picked up the bag and strode confidently into the apartment.

It was dark, his steps echoed eerily in the open space. He paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark.

That was his mistake.

Jake was suddenly knocked forward by an impact to his back. He staggered forward and bumped into a waist-high countertop. More impacts to his legs and shoulder threw him to the ground.

Confused he reached down to his legs to feel what had hit him, his had became stuck in some sort of sticky substance. More impacts threw him flat against the floor and Jake discovered to his dismay that he could not move. The sticky substance acted like a giant fly trap – he was stuck!

One more impact – an almost gratuitous hit to the head and the world went woozy. The stuff was on his face and stuck in his hair. As he started to pass out, he could taste it dripping into his mouth.

Treacle.

--

Miles away in the factory, several of the Oompa Loompas in the security room heard the alarm go off. One pulled up the information to the screen before him. Scanning the information he announced, "We have an intruder in Ms. Carmichael's studio. The alarms have been tripped and the security measures activated."

The other pulled up additional information, "Sensors indicate one presence, currently unconscious."

"Should we alert Won-Ka?"

"The treacle traps have him secured, let him stew for a while before we call the police. Won-Ka is escorting Ms. Carmichael to an event. Mic-Ka was quite insistent that we not disturb him unless it is the most dire emergency," shrugged the first.

"We'll just keep an eye on things for now."


	16. Chapter 16

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. Good news folks, looks like Mr. Wonka upped my bounty to a cool 250.00! All I did was sign him up for a bunch of internet offers for male enhancement products and personal ads. I'm doing the man a favor… really! – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 16**

He was warm and pressed against cool sheets. Head aching head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Various bruises announced their presence as he gently shifted in position trying to return to sweet dreams.

_God I must have tied a good one on last night_, he thought to himself, preparing for the inevitable assault of instant migraine when he opened his eyes.

Funny how he couldn't hear her moving around the kitchen – she must have already gone to work.

No used procrastinating anymore – time to face the music. He braced himself and opened his eyes.

Darkness.

_Where the hell am I?_ He asked, only slightly worried. Highly unusual, but this wasn't the first time waking in someone else's bedroom.

He tried to roll over, only to be hampered by something wrapped around him. After struggling for a moment, he realized that it wasn't a blanket as first figured.

He was covered in some goo and he was mostly stuck to a wooden floor.

Jake Mansfield managed to push himself over with his one free arm and took in his surroundings. It was starting to come back to him now - the favor for Victor, staking out the apartment of the tasty redhead and then… He groaned as he realized what had happened. What kind of seriously fucked up individual used candy as a burglar alarm?

Willy Wonka

He remembered Victor's ravings on the woman and how she had managed to land a lucrative contract with the reclusive candy maker. This had to be his doing.

A cold chill ran down his spine as he started to understand the trouble he was in - the gig was up and he needed to haul ass to get out of there. Jake looked around with desperation. He wasn't going to jail because that prick Vic got his Marks and Spencer Y-fronts in a twist.

Wonka's reputation for legal prosecution was legendary – between what had happened to those competitors who stole his recipes and the lawsuits that had followed the winners of the golden tickets and their ignominious expulsion from the factory – he was ironclad if not highly unusual in his pursuit of justice.

Jake spotted some equipment on the cabinet above his head – something that looked like a small blow-torch or something like that. He stretched out his arm and managed with some fumbling to grab the dangling black cord and give it a good yank. The device tumbled down and thumped him painfully on the back of the shoulder.

No way in hell was he crossing Wonka. He was ditching the job and ignoring Vic for the next couple of years to let things cool down. Jake regretted not being able to get one-on-one with the redhead, but he loved his freedom more than anything else.

The device turned out to be a heat-lamp. With some rather difficult wiggling and practically dislocating a shoulder and defiantly ripping a bicep, he managed to plug the lamp in and set it on the floor on by his other hand to soften the toffee that encased him. They'd find the mess, but at least he wouldn't still be there.

Gritting his teeth against the heat and burning sensation, he set to work.

--

The ceremony had gone off without a hitch. Guest had cleared a path and the two men walked arm in arm up the aisle. Spencer was splendid in his peacock blue suit and Reggie had changed into a dapper suit of similar cut in black, white and silver. Veronica was breathtaking in her cream colored gown, during the processional, striding up to where a man in a white robe awaited at the front of the room. She carried a small bouquet of lilies wrapped with plum colored ribbon and watched the proceeding with benevolent impatience.

Willy stood quietly in the back and watched the official conduct the ceremony. He couldn't hear the quiet words, but instead read the protective expression on her face. When the ceremony completed, there was applause and the happy couple embraced and kissed while the crowd closed in to offer congratulations.

Willy pondered the strange scene – two men just got married. He half expected Spencer to jump into Reggie's arms to be carried across the threshold.

Veronica worked her way through the crowd to stand by his side and regard the scene as well. Willy noticed her out of the corner of his eye and said nothing.

"If he kicks up one heel as they kiss next time, I'll have to throw the book at him for encouraging cliché," she murmured to him.

"Or twirl his hair," he replied on a similar wavelength.

"Dear god….the garter," she groaned.

"Please tell me they skipped it,"

"They wouldn't tell me - which tells me one of them is wearing one."

They both shuddered with that particular thought.

Tearing his mind away from horrifying thoughts, Willy commented, "I think it's going to take a lot more alcohol than I'm currently capable of drinking to make it through that particular scene."

She nodded, "I love them to death, but sometimes they get so wrapped up in each other that they forget other people are around. I mean its one thing to be alone, but it's something else to have something like what they have flaunted in my face."

"You feel left out?" Willy asked, tipping back the remains of his drink.

Willy wondered, where did that come from?

_Wow! It really is easier for me to get out when you get lubricated_, commented Bob.

Veronica, ignorant of the ongoing internal dialogue replied, "Yes, I do feel left out quite often. They do their best to include me, and I do have a few friends of my own as well, but it's something else altogether when everyone else is paired up and you realize you're standing on your own."

Bob decided that this was the time to commandeer control of the mouth. "I'm sorry to hear that, but I know what you mean. I feel the same way around the Buckets."

Shut up Bob! You're making me sound pathetic! Willy whined, horrified.

_Hey I call it like I see it_, Bob sneered.

Bob seemed to be on to something when Veronica half-turned to him to grab his free hand in her own and give him a sad smile. "I guess we left-overs ought to stick together, Hm?"

There was a cough by the DJ at that moment as he announced, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you Reginald Carmichael and Spencer Talbot in their first dance as life-mates."

The disco ball that Reggie insisted on lit up throwing multi-colored sparkles around the room, and "Unchained Melody" started to play. The two men moved together gazing deeply into each other's eyes.

Veronica tugged Willy's hand, "Care to dance?"

Willy nodded and ditched his glass next to some sort of potted plant – an orchid perhaps, and followed the woman through the crowd and onto the open floor to join several other couples swaying to the music.

Willy stiffly held one hand and with the lightest of touches, rested the other on the small soft swell of her hip. He jumped slightly at the warmth of her body through the dress. She looked expectantly up at him for a moment.

"What?" he asked nervously.

"You're supposed to lead?"

"Oh! Right! Well, here goes nothing," he sputtered before moving into a classic waltz. Veronica followed his lead carefully, sensing his unease.

Bob meanwhile was throwing his non-existent hands up in disgust. _She's a beautiful woman, not a hand grenade – hold her closer you loon!_

I don't have a clue what I'm doing here, cut me some slack, he snapped back.

_Yes you do, that's why I'm here – I'm you, remember?_

Willy gritted his teeth and Veronica looked at him in alarm, "Are you alright, you seem to be in pain?"

"No – I'm fine. Just a disturbing thought," he said in a voice slightly higher than normal.

One slender arm slid up to rest around his neck and cool fingers played with the hair on the back of his neck. She pulled him closer and whispered in his ear, "Relax! I've got your back."

The combination of her breath on his highly sensitive ear and the warmth of her body were too much for Willy to ignore. He mentally handed the reigns over to Bob and prayed that his slightly-evil inner self wouldn't humiliate him too much.

Willy relaxed into her grip and allowed his arm to snake more fully around her waist to rest his hand against her bare back, he felt dizzy for a moment with the warmth of her skin under his glove-clad hand. For one wild moment, he wanted to tear off the single protective layer between them, but controlled that impulse.

He pressed her hand into his chest and leaned forward to rest his top-hat clad head against hers. He gazed deeply into her eyes and saw them sparkle in amusement.

"Much better," she whispered. "I was beginning to worry that you didn't like me."

"Never," he breathed back. Her hair felt like wild silk on his face and smelled like that heavenly combination of peaches and warm amber. His heart gave a hard thump of sheer happiness and Willy closed his eyes to try and adsorb the multitude of wonderful sensations that was Veronica Carmichael held close in his arms.

Okay Bob, you win this one, he admitted.

--

When Willy relaxed and pulled her closer, Veronica felt the knot sitting on the back of her neck at the base of her spine loosed and relax. For the first time in a very long time she felt relaxed and happy. His body moved in time to the music and she felt safe. His hand cradling her back felt warm and comforting and oddly protective.

She noticed Reggie and Spencer twirl by and give her a double thumbs up and huge grins, but she settled for flipping them the bird before returning her attention to the amazing depth of Willy's magical violet eyes. They lightened and darkened with his unreadable thoughts - darkening to a velvet midnight hue and lightening to a beautiful amethyst. Veronica felt she could get lost in those eyes.

Several songs began and ended without their notice. Those who shared the dance floor learned to steer around the two oblivious dancers. It was only when the slow music slipped away to be replaced by something more upbeat and vigorous that they slipped from each other's arms.

"Thank you. That was wonderful," she whispered.

"Indeed it was – one of the best moments of my life." Willy replied, reluctantly releasing her hand.

"Care for something else to drink or eat?" she offered, trying for a graceful transition.

"Sure, I'll try another one of those ridiculous suggestively-named drinks."

"Shirley Temple then?"

"Yes, Please."

She excused herself to the wet bar to replace the Zinfandel she had been sipping with another and to fix a drink for Willy. She had switched to flavorful but non-alcoholic drinks unknown to Willy since his reaction to the Slippery Nipple. No use getting the poor man plastered.

Reggie slid up and immediately began the cross-examination, "Getting rather cozy with Mr. Wonka, weren't we?"

"Push off – aren't you supposed to be wrapped up with your blushing bride?" she asked, sipping her wine.

"Spencer's more curious than I am. I'm not going to even mention this crowd. Everyone's wondering what he's doing here…or rather, they were until you two started dancing."

She choked momentarily; she used the cocktail napkin to mop the wine that escaped from her chin, "Excuse me? It's not like that."

"Whatever you say, Cleopatra."

"Pardon?"

"You know, Queen of Denial?"

Veronica just shook her head and spotted Willy and Spencer talking across the room. Apparently it was something that invoked a lot of arm waving and what looked like random muscle spasms – how very curious.

"Reggie. I like Willy. I feel safe with him. I refuse to try and categorize what I may be feeling for him into any particular niche. He's a unique man who refuses to be buttonholed, and I'm just not up to figuring out why that is until after the project is done. Besides, once I'm done working for him, he'll move on to other things and I'll be left alone again – why get attached?"

Reggie was flabbergasted, this much disclosure from his sister? Normally, he had to pry the time of day out of her with a crowbar. "Whatever you say, Darling. I just want to know if you're alright with it for now. I mean - we don't want to abandon you for a honeymoon in the middle of an emotional breakdown."

"I am. I'm a big girl Reggie - no need to worry about me on your holiday. I'm sure Spain is beautiful and I can learn to live without you for two weeks," she said trying to follow Spencer and Willy's movements from across the room – it looked like they were attempting to stomp ants to death now…

"Okay – I give. What the hell are those two up to?" Reggie asked exasperated after following Veronica's confused gaze.

They crossed the room to where the two stomping men were gathering a small crowd of amused onlookers. "Reggie!" called Spencer who paused in his dance of ant death. 'I was just telling Willy about how you were the choreographer for that Fatboy Slim video with Christopher Walken."

"I loved that one. I don't get a chance to watch much television, but one of my workers recommended it to me." Willy admitted looking a bit more animated.

"I had to change a lot of the choreography from what I first envisioned since Chris is a bit up there in years and not a dancer to boot," Reggie said smoothly. "I was thinking of something more along the lines of the dancing from "Singing in the Rain" with the footwork."

"Really?" asked Willy excitedly, "That's another of my favorites." He did a quick shuffle, double step slide to demonstrate.

Reggie's eyes lit up. "Excellent. How about this one?" he completed a lightning fast set of steps.

"Sure!" Willy copied him and added a quick twirl to finish.

"Dance off!" someone from the back of the crowd shouted. The DJ nodded and shot a questioning look at Reggie. Reggie turned to Willy with a challenging look in his eye, "You willing?"

Emboldened by alcohol and the affections of a lady, Willy bowed and grinned at the Groom. "It would be my honor. I shall do my best to keep up and not embarrass myself – you after all are the professional."

Looks like the years of dancing with the Oompa Loompas are finally paying off, Willy thought to himself.

According to Neville, dance master of the tribe, anyone over five feet couldn't dance and was merely satisfied that his employer wouldn't embarrass himself in public. Then again, he'd never met Reggie either.

Reggie returned the bow and raised a fist to the DJ. The crunchy beat of "Weapon of Choice" started on the speakers.

--

Veronica could only watch in slack jawed amazement. The two men faced off – both wearing old-fashioned suits, one in black and one in blue. Reggie started with a relatively short combo. Willy quickly returned with a flourish as if challenging Reggie for something more difficult.

Back and forth they went, increasing in difficulty each round. Willy's face was creased in excitement and his body moved smoothly under the formal clothes. Spencer pulled Veronica to his side at the front of the crowd and said, "I thought you said that Willy was a recluse. Where did he learn to dance like that?"

Veronica was an old pro at this – it was a game that she and Reggie used to play. She analyzed the dance for a moment and shot back, "Singing in the Rain, the combination of the scene with Gene Kelly and Danny Kaye as they do "Moses" and the fancy footwork from "Make 'Em Laugh."

As they performed a particularly difficult combination, Spencer shuddered and hissed in Veronica's ear, "Your brother knows what his dancing does for me. He's playing dirty." He continued to stare with lust-filled eyes.

For once she had to agree, the strong graceful movements of Willy's body pulling a base response of her own, "Oh yeah. I know what you mean."

Spencer shot her a look and smiled.

Someone behind her muttered to his friend, "Please tell me you're getting this on your phone."

The friend nodded, "Oh yeah! No way I'm missing this. It'll be up as soon as I get it home."

She couldn't bring it in her to object. In fact she turned around and quickly shot off her e-mail address with the terse instruction to send her a copy ASAP. Willy and Reggie were amazing!

They'd progressed to dancing off table tops and wonderful spin kicks. Both men were smiling and having a good time. They quickly came together and stopped on the last beat of the song as if planned, arms crossed and regarding each other in the same position as they had started in.

They shook hands as the crowd howled and clapped its approval. Together they turned and bowed to the cheering people and Veronica threw herself forward to be caught in a triumphant hug by first Reggie and then Willy. Laughing she kissed him on the cheek, "That was fantastic! Oh Willy, you were great!"

He was grinning at the surge of adrenaline from both the dancing and Veronica's kiss. "Thank you. It's nice to know I didn't embarrass you too much." He took the drink from her hand and took a long sip – dancing after all, was hard work.

"Are you kidding? I'm going to have to keep you very close to me for the rest of the night. The ladies of the crowd are eyeing you with predatory interest," she said, slipping her arm around his waist and leading him toward a cracked window to cool down.

Willy looked around in astonishment. Holy cow! She was right. He shuddered at the calculating heated looks and leaned closer to Veronica.

"It was fun thought. The Oompa Loompa mostly think I'm a lost cause when it comes to the fancy footwork. You should see what they usually come up with."

"I find that rather intimidating. If that's the basics…" she trailed off as she glanced out the window to see big fluffy snowflakes falling from the dark night sky. 'Willy look, it's snowing!"

"First snowfall of the year. Running a bit late this time around, it usually shows up around the beginning of the month." He commented, leaning his head to rest his cheek next to hers. Ignoring the crowd, he felt relaxed and happy next to this wonderful woman who appreciated him.

Slow music began to play again and they took the opportunity to curl into one another and resume the dance they had to abandon earlier. Veronica rested her head against his neck and shoulder, breathing in the sweet peanut brittle scent of him. His arms were warm and strong around her and the primal part of her purred in satisfaction.

They swayed together for a long time, the party continuing unaware around them.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, the vibration of his voice rumbling pleasantly against her cheek. His breath puffed against her hair in tantalizing fashion.

"You feel good. I'm glad you came with me," she murmured, snuggling closer.

"Me too."

She raised her head to look up at him, and he gazed down on her with a soft expression in his eyes. Unasked she raised her chin and leaned in closer to meet his lips in an eiderdown soft kiss. It was as if the universe exploded behind her eyes – his lips so warm and soft caressed her own and she found herself responding with long forgotten ardor.

This is what she had been missing all those years, this is what she was craving and couldn't admit to. This is what had been robbed from her for surviving Marcus's attack.

And this is what she vowed to reclaim with this wonderful man who kissed her now.

He made a small soft noise in the back of his throat and it went straight to her libido. She deepened the kiss slightly and groaned at the wonderful sensations running through her.

Willy's arms tightened around as they parted for breath and they stared at each other in wonder.

"Wow!" he breathed, feeling as if he'd just tried candy for the first time.

'Wow!" she replied, her heart tap-dancing with joy and hope at rediscovering these wonderful feelings not tied to anything that attracted a panic attack.

It was then that they noticed the crowd of people pushing toward the windows, Willy jumped. He didn't think they were attracting this kind of attention. Surprisingly, they were largely ignored as people gazed out the window toward a bright light outside.

Veronica gasped and he quickly followed her gaze out the window toward the source of the illumination. There was a large fire burning in one of the buildings a few blocks away. Flames rose high in the sky , black smoke billowing to merge with low lying fluffy snow clouds. "Huh! That's one hell of a fire!" he exclaimed.

Veronica stiffened in his arms and he glanced down at her to see her face twisted in horror and shock.

"That's my building!" she gasped and was gone, sprinting out of the room.

"Wait!" he yelled, pushing unseeing past the people to chase her.


	17. Chapter 17

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. I blame Mr. Wonka for sending me a copy of "Re: Your Brains" by Tom Colton and getting that incestuous tune stuck in my head for the past two days. My bounty stands at 250.00, let's see if we can 'up' that with teaching the Oompa Loompa the entire They Might Be Giants library. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 17**

Veronica was blind deaf and dumb to anyone or anything in her path in her frantic sprint toward her building. Her legs shook and nearly buckled several times as her breath sawed painfully in and out of her lungs in the cold dry air. She felt detached from her body as it labored through the snowy streets in the softly falling snow. The smell of smoke drifted low and heavy the closer she got.

_Please no! Please not my building! Please let it be someone else's!_ she prayed as the stitch in her side threatened her progress. She sobbed and pressed forward up one more block, turning the corner to see her building.

The building was a vision out of hell. Demonically curling flames caressed and devoured old brick and wood, black smoke and flame billowed from every window. Ashes fell mixed with snow from the sky. The heat was like a physical force, pushing her back from the wreckage.

Three fire trucks were gathered around the building, men running in organized patterns deploying hoses and spraying the flames with water. They could have been standing around roasting marshmallows with all the effectiveness they showed. It was obvious that they had arrived too late to save the building and now fought to keep the fire from spreading to others.

Tears streamed down her face and she suddenly lunged forward toward her home – desperation giving her strength.

She had to save something, anything! It was her life, her future, her happiness that was being devoured by flames.

Firefighters grabbed and clung to her as she sprinted across the intersection, "Miss – no you can't go in there!"

She struggled with the man in the heavy canvas coat, plastic mask and air tank, "No! It' my building! I need to save what I can!" she shrieked.

The man rolled his eyes; this was hardly the first hysterical person he'd had to prevent from entering a burning building. "Wilson help me with her! Miss – it's a total loss. There's nothing you can do!" he bellowed, wrestling with the crazed woman.

She twisted and fought with every ounce of strength in her body, mindless in her anguish.

The heat was blistering and the two men managed to force Veronica away from the burning building. Although she fought and lunged to try and save anything, her mind was disconnected and she numbly realized that everything she had worked and slaved for was gone.

She slumped in defeat and let herself sob harshly, agony and despair overwhelmed her. A third man ran up to assist the firefighters restraining her and she was suddenly wrapped in velvet-clad arms. Willy was there, stroking her hair and searching her eyes for any degree of reason.

He held her sobbing body and turned his head to regard the burning building. Steely resolve and anger filled his features, "Is it salvageable?" he demanded of the firefighters.

They shook their heads sadly, "It's an old building and didn't have current fire-code features such as sprinklers. It was a loss before we even got here."

Veronica shook violently, lost in her own world of pain and panic. The panic attack rendered anything anyone was saying into indecipherable rubbish. Willy comfortingly stoked her hair and back, trying to sooth her.

"What was the cause?" he asked, his cold tone relaying his anger more than any outbreak of emotion.

"I'll send over the chief to talk with you. Are you the owner?"

Willy nodded. The second firefighter who had been silent throughout the exchange handed a scratchy woolen blanket to Willy and helped him wrap the hysterical woman in it. Veronica's skin was ice cold and she was pale blue around the lips fingers. "She's going into shock. We should get her medical attention," said a gentle voice. Willy was slightly startled to note that the second figure was a woman.

He shook his head, "I'll take care of her – once I talk to the chief, I'll take her home."

A solid brick of a man approached the trio. A heavily lined face, red from the heat and decorated with a bristling grey moustache regarded Willy from his crouched position next to Veronica. "Sir, I'm Fire Marshall William McGee. I understand you are the owner of this building. Do you happen to know what business rented the top floor?"

Willy helped Veronica from the cold asphalt and returned the appraisal, "Yes. I am the owner and the top floor was Ms. Carmichael's workshop."

McGee glanced at Veronica unsympathetically, "That's where the fire started. Apparently, some heat-generating equipment was left on and started the flame."

She wasn't so far gone to allow the blame for this horror to lay on her shoulders, "Nonsense! I unplug everything before I leave. I wouldn't risk everything like…" she shook and was lost again to the rising panic attack. Damn it! Not now – she was being accused of arson for Christ's sake!

Ignoring her, the chief coldly continued, "Apparently, there was someone living on the floor below as well. As this area is zoned for commercial businesses, we're asking if you want to press charges against the occupant for illegal residency."

Veronica spiraled lower into her panic attack, she was going to jail! Her breath heaved rapidly, she felt like she was drowning. She started to flail uncontrollably, _she couldn't breath_!

Willy struggled with her glaring at the chief, unconcerned with the desolation he was heaping on the struggling woman. "No – I will not be pressing charges. You should be a little more concerned about the fact that people's lives are being ruined rather than bureaucracy at this moment Chief McGee."

Veronica was growing numb, she couldn't feel her face or limbs, darkness was creeping into her vision. Her lungs heaved uselessly as she fought for air and her stomach churned, threatening to heave its contents.

Willy stared at her, eyes aflame with worry, "Veronica? Stay with me!"

The darkness was closing in and the only thing tethering her to reality was her inhuman grasp on Willy's hands and the dim light of his eyes in the encapsulating darkness.

"Veronica!" he shouted, taking his hand to press against her face.

With that last contact lost, she passed out.

--

Willy was frantic when she went limp in his arms, her eyes slitted and rolled back in her head. The female firefighter swore and moved forward to check her vitals as the chief turned and bellowed, "Medic!"

With the firefighter's guidance, he gently carried the unconscious woman to a waiting gurney. Pressing two fingers to the pulse point on Veronica's neck, the firefighter called out, "BP normal, respiration is out of whack – get her some oxygen!"

The piled another blanket on top of her and quickly pressed a mask to her face. The dreadful blue tinge began to fade away to be replaced by healthy pink. Reassured by the turnaround, he left Veronica to the care of the paramedics to stomp over to where the Chief was growling orders into a walkie-talkie.

"Thank you for that charming display of tact Chief McGee," Willy snarled. "Would you care to disembowel some puppies next?"

McGee was unmoved, "I'm doing my job. I don't have time to hold the hand of every fainting female that comes along."

Furious at the callous nature of the man Willy gritted his teeth and managed to say, "I want a full investigation into what started the fire. I will offer full cooperation to the investigating authority only if I get the same respect."

"You'll get your due process, sir. Now if you will excuse me, I'm trying to prevent the rest of the block from going up," said McGee dryly.

Willy returned to the gurney. Veronica was still out and the paramedic in question was slipping a syringe of something into her arm. "It's a sedative. Her system was already stressed and this just pushed it over its limit," he explained at Willy's questioning glance.

"Will she be alright? Does she need to go to the hospital?" he asked, taking her hand in his again.

"She's fine for now. Fainting is kind of like rebooting a computer in this case – too much stimulus and Bam! Reboot." The paramedic said soothingly. "She just needs rest and a quiet environment for tonight. Does she have anywhere to go?"

"She's coming with me. I'll look after her." The hard tone of his voice and the tender expression as he looked at the woman on the gurney were at odds.

"I'll need to get some contact information to follow up with. What's her name and who are you?" asked the man grabbing a clipboard and pen.

Willy relayed the information with a flat tone, never taking his eyes from Veronica, watching her breath – making sure the next breath kept coming. He ignored the incredulous expression on the paramedic's face.

"May I take her now?" he asked wearily, the evening catching up.

"Yeah. There's nothing you can do here. I'll be here a bit longer and will let anyone else looking for you two know where to contact you." The paramedic was sympathetic to the exhaustion on the Choclatier's face.

Willy merely nodded and thanked the man before carefully gathering Veronica in his arms, ensuring the ugly wool blanket was tucked close. He strode away from the now smoldering building, glaring at McGee as he went. Just around the corner, the Wonkavator sat waiting for the master of the factory to return.

He used one foot to nudge the door open and carried Veronica inside. He gently set down and propped her upright in the corner before rising and pushing a complicated series of buttons with both hands. The Wonkavator turned on, and with full autopilot control soared toward the factory. He sighed in weariness and frustration before sinking to the floor himself and gathering the comatose woman in his lap. He rested his head on hers and took comfort from the warm weight of her body as he could only hope she took from his.

_What a day_.

The decision to bring her into the factory was a spontaneous one. It was a safe quiet environment that would offer succor to her as she pieced her life back together. He just hoped that she would take his offered help with no ill will. He'd contact Spencer and Reggie to as soon as he got back.

The Oompa Loompa had been after him to invite her to the Exodus Ceremony without realizing the vital role she already played. This was just a rotten way to do it. He would tell them to offer her full courtesy and immediate access to him when demanded. No way was he abandoning her during all this.

She started to stir, eyes flying open, but not necessarily registering anything yet. Willy was sympathetic; he'd been knocked for a loop once or twice during various candy mishaps, coming around was rough.

"We're in the Wonkavator heading to my factory. You passed out." He explained gently, using one hand to brush hair away from her face. _That stuff seems to get everywhere_, he thought to himself.

Veronica was content to sit quiescent in his lap to gather herself for the moment. His voice sounded like it was coming from a closed room down a hallway. "Was it real?" she asked, her voice sounding muffled to her own ears. Strangely, she felt rather liquid and relaxed. The panic and fear were nicely removed and her emotions were detached – like watching a movie about someone else.

"I'm afraid so." He replied, still petting her hair – soothing himself more than her.

"What about our work? We'll have to start all over. I don't know if there will be enough time to finish by the deadline." she offered, her voice flat – dead.

"Don't worry about it for right now. We'll take a closer look tomorrow morning and see if we can salvage anything," he said in a low voice.

"When you call Reggie – do everything you can to make sure he doesn't abandon their holiday. This is my mess, I'll clean it up," she said. Willy protested, but she was insistent.

They said nothing as they approached the behemoth factory lurking in the snowy night and the Wonkavator plunged into a dark opening to rest on rails with a clatter. She watched the factory rooms flash by with an incurious expression.

"I feel emotionally numb," she confessed looking at him with dark glazed eyes.

"That might be the sedative the paramedic gave you," he explained.

She nodded slowly and as they slowed to a stop, they climbed to their feel. She almost swooned again, "Whoa! Whatever they gave me is stronger this time than what they did before."

Willy was confused as he balanced her, "Before?"

She was terribly nonchalant, her eyes glassy, "Yes, after the attack. I got a shot when I was in the hospital."

Willy opened his mouth to ask, but stopped as he realized he would be taking advantage of her while drugged. Nothing good would come of that.

An Oompa Loompa stood at attention as the door opened revealing a corridor of closed doors. "Welcome back Won-Ka."

_So this was the true form of Willy's workers_. She stared at the tiny man without expression, her natural curiosity taking a blow as much as the rest of her had.

Willy nodded and said, "Ms. Carmichael will be staying with us for a little while, I want her in the Vanilla Cream room for tonight. I need Sherman to be on standby – she's had a bad shock tonight."

The little man bowed and led the way down the corridor to a plain white painted door. Willy guided Veronica through and helped her sit on the soft white duvet on the bed.

The room was almost shades of cream and white, texture rather than color adding decoration. Veronica mused that she used to match the décor before the fire. The dress was now a sooty grey and her skin felt cold and greasy.

Much like her life it seemed.

Willy ushered Neville out and turned to her, "We'll get you tucked in tonight and let you rest. I'll check back in with you tomorrow morning and see if you're interested in having breakfast with the Buckets."

She nodded again – the effort to corral rational speech rapidly escaping her. Willy could see the exhaustion weighing her down. "Bath?" she managed.

"I'll send some assistance to help you. Your balance isn't the best right now and I don't want to falling down and hurting yourself," he came toward her and knelt at her side to meet her eyes at her level.

"I'm sorry the evening ended this way," he whispered. "Things seemed to be going so well."

"I was enjoying myself. It's something I haven't been able to do for a long time. Thank you." she whispered back and placed a feather light kiss on his cheek.

He gave her a sad smile as the door knocked and two Oompa Loompa women entered.

"Oh, goodness! What happened?" asked the leader seeing the condition of the two taller people.

"There was a fire. Ms. Carmichael lost everything. She's my guest here until she feels ready to leave," he said and quickly introduced the women as Monica and Ray-Nil. He leaned down to their level. "Please take care of her tonight, she's had a terrible shock," he said softly, his violet eyes earnest.

"We will. I promise," Monica replied with a motherly pat on the hand.

"Good night Veronica. If you need anything, just ask and I'll be here." He murmured, gently taking her chin and placing a light chaste kiss on her lips.

Then he was gone.

--

"Get me the security team monitoring the building. Have Chief Mic-Ka meet me in the security observation lounge. They're going to tell me what the heck happened tonight," he ordered, stalking down the hall on long legs, Neville running to keep up.

Willy no longer bothered to hide the fury in his eyes. If this was pure accident, he'd eat his hat.

Willy made a quick stop by his office to look up the number for Reginald Carmichael. He quickly called and relayed the situation, assuring the frantic man of his sister's safety.

He tentatively asked the question that had been bothering him, "Veronica mentioned something about an attack in her past. Do you think this is related?"

Reggie sighed, "She mentioned that? Crap. She really is tore up."

"What happened?"

"It's not my place to say. I will tell you that whatever went down tonight had nothing to do with what happened to her in the past. "

Willy set his hat on the desk and ran fingers through his hair in frustration, "How can you be so sure?"

"Because the man who hurt her is dead."

There was silence on both ends for a moment.

"I guess that's final enough," Willy said. "She's going to stay here tonight but I'd like to offer her sanctuary for longer if she wants it. I wanted to have your say-so first as her next-of kin."

"Spencer and I are already at the Airport – you managed to catch us on the cell. We'll head back on the next flight…"

"She insisted that your return wasn't necessary. In fact, I think she wanted me to, and I will quote here, 'do anything and everything within my power to ensure you don't abandon your holiday.' I won't say the rest."

Reggie sighed again, and Willy could feel the man's frustration, "Alright fine. We'll go, but we'll be back early and will call tomorrow morning to talk to her."

"Agreed. Sorry about raining on your parade – congratulations again."

By the time he walked to the small observation room filled with security screens, his temper had been cooled somewhat so he could look at the situation with a level head. He walked inside and noted that the small group came to attention.

"Report." He ordered softly.

"We had an intruder alarm go off at 10:30," started the first security officer, Smi-Li by name. "The Toffee Traps deployed and intruder lost consciousness. We delayed notifying you as we didn't want to disturb you at Ms. Carmichael's event."

Chief Mic-Ka jumped in at that point, "I issued that command, Won-Ka. If there is any blame for not letting you know of the intruder, it lies with me."

Willy waved off the Chief's protestations with one hand and nodded for Smi-Li to continue.

"The intruder regained consciousness at 11:35, we registered a heat signature at 11:55 and immediately called the Police. The intruder must have used the heat to melt the toffee and made his escape. He left the heat source running and the fire started at 12:13. The first officer was on scene when he noted the smoke and called the fire department."

Willy held up his hand and Smi-Li fell into silence.

"Work with Tupik-Ra – I want you to release that information to the detective in charge of the investigation of this fire. If there was toffee and if he melted his way out, there is no chance that he managed to escape without leaving significant hair behind." Willy commanded, his eyes following an invisible train of thought.

Everyone in the room winced and nodded. They'd all been on the wrong end of a toffee explosion.

"On that note, contact hospitals, urgent treatment centers, and all-night medical centers looking for someone with burns and covered in candy. Whoever did this will stick out like a sore thumb."

His eyes glowed with malevolence, "Make no mistake about it, he's going to pay."


	18. Chapter 18

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. Hey! Did you know that if you can get 200 or more Oompa Loompas to sing "Constantinople" by They Might Be Giants on a constant basis for four days, annoyed Chocolatiers raise your bounty to 500.00? It's true! – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 18**

Opening her eyes, Veronica stared in blank amazement at the small figure standing at eye level next to her bed. _Who's that? What is she doing in my apartment?_

It took less than a minute for mental processes to come up to speed. She groaned and recovered her head with the blanket, burrowing under the pillow for more shelter.

Her eyes and ribs ached, her head pounded and her throat hurt horribly with the thick smell of smoke left trapped in her sinus cavities.

"Ms. Carmichael? We brought you clothing to change. Mr. Wonka will be stopping by in about half an hour," The small woman – Monica said.

Veronica felt a tugging and Monica's head burrowed under the covers from the side to regard her own bloodshot eyes.

"Don't worry dear," Monica gave her a sympathetic smile and patted her hand. "We'll help you get this all sorted out, after all, getting started is the hardest part.

"Why don't you go clean up? Your hair still smells like smoke."

Veronica shook her head, the tears she was so sick of but couldn't seem to stop welling in her eyes, "Can't I just stay here and molder away? I feel warm and safe."

Monica chuckled and drew the blankets away from their heads, "Sorry dear, no time for a pity party today. You need to get up and moving or the schnozwhanger will get you."

"The what?" she asked, interested and sitting up despite herself. "Mr. Wonka has mentioned a bit about your tribe, but what's a schnozwhanger?"

"Get cleaned up and I'll tell you," Monica set the clothing on top of the covers of the bed. "I'm sorry, but this is all we've got in your size. It used to be Charlie's before his last growth spurt. Still, it's all we've found unless you don't mind wearing Won-Ka's clothing?" Monica said.

Blushing with the thought of walking around in Willy's briefs…or was he a boxer man?…she rapidly shook her head and struggled out of the luxurious bed and looked at what Monica indicated.

Rather a ragtag collection of clothing, small old grey tee-shirt with "Candy is Dandy but Liquor is Quicker" on it, sweatpants that looked like it might run a little small, some thick woolen socks in a strange purple and orange. Worn grey women's underwear and a bra that looked like it would be way too large in the cup – she may have to skip those. Wearing someone's clothing was fine, but moving in on someone's underwear squicked her out.

She took the proffered clothing and headed for the bathroom. Considering she had taken a bath the previous night, she just needed to scrub the scent of smoke out of her hair.

She rapidly lathered and rinsed her hair with a strong lemon-scented shampoo, finally satisfied the smell was gone. She emerged from the bathroom wrapping her head in a towel. Monica sat patiently on the made bed waiting for her. Veronica took a seat on the floor to meet the small woman's eyes.

"A schnozwanger is a large carnivorous insect, living in Loompaland. As it was so much larger than we, it used to pick us up and carry us off to be devoured. It's sting was particularly vicious. It paralyzed as well as helped partially digest schnozwanger prey so it was nearly 100 fatal," Monica explained.

"That's horrible!" Veronica exclaimed.

Monica nodded,"We quickly discovered that if we hesitated in open areas out of covering foliage, they would quickly sweep down and kill us. That's why we say keep moving or the schnozwanger will get you."

Veronica suddenly held a lot more respect for the tiny people - living with that kind of danger day in and day out. Whinging about her apartment buring down seemed quite juvenile now in comparison.

"Thank you Monica." Veronica said gratefully. She crossed her arms and bowed from the waist.

Monica's dark eyes danced with glee, "You are welcome, dear. Now dry your hair or you'll catch a cold."

--

Veronica was trying to comb out her damp hair with her fingers when Willy knocked on the door and poked his head in.

"Good morning! Are you decent?" he called.

"The jury is still out, but you can come in," she replied, grimacing as she yanked a particularly stubborn knot out.

Willy entered carrying her worn black coat and messenger bag. "You left these at your brother's place last night. I ran back this morning and picked them up." He explained.

"Oh goodness! Thank you! My wallet is in here." Veronica exclaimed happily taking them from him. She opened the bag and quickly retreived a wide-toothed comb to work on her dripping mop.

Willy glanced at her and did a double take. His gaze seemed strangely hungry for a moment before he started to blush violently.

He jerked his eyes to the floor and said in a high voice, "Uh…no problem! So! Are you hungry?"

She cocked her head and studied him for a moment. _What was going on here_?

Deciding that he was embarrassed at her behavior last night she sighed and ran both hands through her hair distractedly.

"Willy, I'm so sorry about my behavior last night. If I've offended you either before the fire or after – I do apologize for putting you out."

"You haven't offended me. Quite to the contrary, it was a lovely evening – barring the dramatic conclusion of course," Willy studied the ceiling of her room with forced nonchalance still blushing violently.

She sighed – the last thing she wanted to do was play games today, "Okay – what then is bothering you?"

"Nothing! Really…nothing." He squeaked, clutching the cane compulsively, as if attempting to strangle it – his gloves giving off pathetic squeaks.

"Willy!" she used a dreaded parental voice she borrowed from her mother. It was a voice that promised swift and bloody consequences if the truth wasn't confessed in short order.

Poor Willy flushed a painful looking crimson, she wondered for a moment if his head was going to pop with all that blood rushing to it.

"Um….look down." He whispered closing his eyes and visibly bracing for impact.

Veronica looked down at herself and yipped in alarm. Her wet hair had soaked portions of her small tee shirt – portions that were already strained with portions of her anatomy which she considered more of a nuisance than anything else. The effect was something that probably would get her free drinks at any pub for the night.

She squeaked in alarm and grabbed the towel to wrap around herself. "Oh God!" she blurted, tears coming rapidly to her eyes again. This was the last straw.

--

"I'm so sorry, Willy! I had no idea," she whispered and closed her eyes to huddle under the huge towel.

"It's bad enough that I was crawling all over you last night, apparently burned down your building, pass out in your arms and you're kind enough to take me in, and what do I do? I come off like a three-dollar hooker throwing myself at you! My life sucks!" she started to wail.

Willy fluttered his hands in alarm, as if trying to calm her. "Now… now! It's not like that – I'm sure you would get more than three dollars."

Veronica wailed louder.

_You are a pillock_! Bob snarled. _You couldn't just enjoy the show and say nothing could you_?

Realizing what he had just said Willy tried to explain, "No! Not that…I mean you're not a hooker! You may kinda look like one with the wet tee shirt – not that I've seen many… I mean I don't go out cruising for ladies of the evening or anything…not that I would mind if you were one, my opinion wouldn't change...but you look so much nicer than they would."

She stuck her head under the towel and cried harder.

_Nice going ace! _

Willy was going down in flames – he just prayed that Veronica was too caught up in her tears to understand the hole he was digging himself into. In desperation he sat down next to her on the bed and gently took her in his arms, "I'm sorry," he whispered to the back of her head as he rocked her. Her sobs descended into soggy sniffles.

He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it into her hand – her snot was going to get all over his coat. She took it gratefully and blew her nose. Willy winced at the noise and the fact she was blowing into his handkerchief – Ew!

"Please understand Willy. I don't mean to come off like this to you," she said miserably. "I think you are a wonderful man, and I do like you. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

He was confused, "Come off like what?"

"All…slutty or something. I know you are not comfortable around people, and I don't want to intrude if I'm not welcome." She whispered, using the cloth to wipe the tears from her eyes once more.

Willy's eyes widened in sudden understanding – she thought he didn't like her! That he wasn't interested! He wondered if he had been so out of touch that he had missed some vital signal to the opposite gender to indicate that he was interested – highly interested in fact judging by Bob's evil presence in his head after all this time. As for not welcome…

_You'd better clarify before she takes off and we never see her again_, Bob growled.

Her eyes were red, her skin blotchy from the crying and the stress had washed out her face to corpse-like pallor. Her wet hair lay in lank snakey tendrils aross her towel clad shoulders.

She was also the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Veronica," he whispered, taking her chin once more into his grip and raising her head to meet his. "You are not slutty. In fact, I find you and your frequent embarrassment quite charming. Whatever told you that I wasn't interested?"

Then he kissed her.

Willy tried to take all the longing, the loneliness, the hope and all of the growing affection for this woman and channel it from his lips and into her.

He and Bob were united in one common cause for once.

She responded with gentle pressure and he felt like the sun was shining from behind his eyelids.

They parted and opened their eyes - violet met deepening green.

"That keeps getting better and better," he said in awe, giving her a grin.

"Wow!" she smiled for a moment, but the light soon dimmed in her eyes. Her body stiffened and she asked in a carefully neutral tone, "What else do you want from me?"

"I'm not going to take advantage of you, Veronica," he assured her gently, releasing her chin and moving back to hold her hands in his blue clad latex ones.

"I just wanted to clear the air and tell you that your interest is returned...," Willy trailed off.

"…just not right now, what with my apartment and studio burning down, trying to clean up the aftermath and hopefully keeping me out of jail for illegal residence," she finished bitterly for him.

"Oh that?" he waved off her concerns, "No problem. As the owner of the building, I hereby refuse to press charges against you for illegal residence. Thanks to the security measures, I also have evidence of someone attempting to break into the studio and have already turned it over to the police for their investigation." he smirked at her with a rather blood-thirsty grin.

"As for the aftermath…" he gazed into her eyes again. "I'll be there for anything you need. If you need funding – I'll give you whatever you need and you can pay me back when you can."

"If you need a shoulder to cry on – I want it to be my shoulder," Willy's thumb caressed the back of her hand, raising goosebumps down the back of her neck.

"If you need a good swift boot to the butt..." Willy hesitated, "I'm sure you can work something out between Spencer, Reggie or Charlie. Oh! Or Grandpa George – he's good at that."

She gave him a watery smile, but some darker emotion - something like fear - still lurked in her eyes.

"So, what now?" she asked, feeling rather overwhelmed and lost.

"Now? We join the Buckets for a bite to eat. I occasionally find that their down-to-earth attitude helps me figure out what needs to be done next. After all, that is why Charlie's my heir," Willy said

A rather sly expression came to camp on his face, "Although you might want to change your shirt. No use giving a growing boy ideas…"

"…Or me for that matter." He smirked giving her another heated look.

"Willy it's not like I have anything else to wear. Everything else I owned went up in smoke," she protested.

Willy lost focus for a moment in the thought of her ditching the shirt altogether.

_Steady_! Warned Bob.

"I'll lend you one of mine," he assured her after a moment.

He was fooling no one according to the expression on Veronica's face.

"Go get it, I'll wait here," she told him, wrapping the towel around her more firmly.

Willy looked abashed, "Sorry – bad thoughts. I'll knock it off for now, I promise."

_Awww…_

He rose and gave her a gallant bow, "Fair maiden, I will return forthwith with yon desired garb."

He twirled and made a rather grandiose exit. Veronica laughed shortly shook her head at his grandstanding.

--

She couldn't believe that he had said that! He had taken all of the doubts as to whether or not he was even interested and now her problems lay in the other direction – if she was capable of returning the favor. If she hadn't known what he was like, she could have interpreted the whole conversation as a rather creepy come-on. As it was, she understood his feelings were genuine if not just awkwardly expressed. Charmingly Willy.

She still felt shaky from Willy's proclamation. Her emotions careened between heel-clicking joy and nail-biting terror. She wrapped the towel/blanket around her and hugged herself as she shook with the intensity of her feelings.

With the discipline of long practice, she stopped that current train of thought and focused on what needed to be done rather than any long term implications.

Let the future bring what it may.


	19. Chapter 19

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No Profit is being garnered from this work._

_Tupik-Ra has delivered a missive from Mr. Wonka indicating that if I don't cease and desist influencing his workers in "subversive" ways he would cut off my chocolate supply. No fair! _

_– Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 19**

Willy scampered through the halls, his delight giving his feet wings. Reaching the short polished marble hallway in front of his personal quarters, he nearly slid past the door on the slick floor. Grabbing desperately for the handle, he managed to keep his balance and come to an abrupt stop.

He quickly entered his bedroom and studied the three tall wardrobes. All were of a rich polished maple, gleaming in the sunlight from the large stained glass window above his bed. All three looked as if they could cheerfully transport a family of eight to the magical land of their choosing within their doors. Willy strode over and threw open the doors of each revealing a eye-watering array of colors and clothing stuffed inside.

"Now, what to pick?" he wondered, his practiced eye running over the selection. Something silk, preferably in a bright color to cheer her up.

There was a knock on the open door behind him. Without turning he said, "Come on in!"

"Good morning Won-Ka," said Sherman's deep voice.

Willy turned to regard the small man with surprise. This was an unusual twist – normally he was the one seeking Sherman out, not vice-versa.

"Good morning Sherman. What can I do for you today?" he asked.

"I wish to speak to you of Ms. Carmichael," Sherman said, studying the taller man before him.

Willy returned his attention to the closet before him, "Sure! I was just finding her a new shirt since the one she was wearing got soaked. Do you think that blue or green would look better on her?"

Sherman shook his head, "Neither – Chocolate brown would be most flattering. Won-Ka, may I have your attention, please?"

Realizing the seriousness in Sherman's tone, Willy turned his back on the closet and indicated Sherman to take a seat in the wingback chair before the fireplace. He quickly angled his own matching seat to face his psychiatrist. "Is something the matter?" he asked, worried.

"Just a concern, Won-Ka," said Sherman. He had heard about their arrival last night and took it upon himself to keep an eye on the woman as she rested. "Ms. Carmichael was much traumatized last night. She did not sleep well and awoke several times from nightmares."

"I know that this has shaken her pretty hard. I already promised to help her with whatever she needs to get back on her feet," Willy said.

"That is good that you offered to help. What was her response?" Sherman asked, crossing his legs.

Willy paused, remembering her reaction to his words. "Well, she seemed rather suspicious of me, actually. She asked me what I expected from her in return."

"A natural reaction," Sherman said. Noting with a raised eyebrow Willy's surprise, he continued, "Indeed, Won-Ka. Imagine losing all that you hold dear, and then someone who you've only known for a few short weeks offering to "magically" fix everything."

"I see." He scowled. He'd never thought of it that way.

"Monica mentioned that you were physically affectionate with her as well," Sherman said, smirking at the rising blush on the taller man's face.

"Yes, well. It was mutual." He coughed, embarrassed. "Please, I feel that is none of your business."

"I apologize. It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable. Considering your fears of outside contamination, I am pleased to find that you are able to work beyond that to be able to feel comfortable touching Ms. Carmichael."

"She's worth it," Willy whispered, twisting his hands together.

"That is good! Ms. Carmichael will need the support. What is her response to your overtures?" Sherman asked, getting to the heart of the matter.

"She seems to like it when we kiss. But, something also seems to hold her back. I notice that she seems afraid of me for some reason," Willy replied, thinking beyond the first flush of emotion and trying to see what lay on the other side.

"What prior relationships has she been in? Was she hurt previously?"

"She mentioned an attack, but I don't know anything else about other boyfriends," Willy said slowly.

"Ms. Carmichael may have been hurt physically and emotionally in a prior relationship, Won-Ka," the tiny man said giving his friend a solemn look. "It would make it difficult to trust. Depending how long ago it may have happened, she may not be fully recovered. Taking away her personal belonging and residence would exasperate that – and thrusting her into a new environment would make her even more hesitant."

"Bringing her here was a mistake then?" asked Willy, dejected.

"Quite to the contrary! I feel that bringing her here was the best possible decision you could have made. The factory is a place outside the normal world. It will give her the opportunity to heal without undue influence or stress. Her physical health seems fragile and stress will make it worse, but we'll ensure she'll get the best possible care – provided she consents to take it and stay here."

Sherman regarded Won-ka sternly, "It would also help to take things slowly developing your relationship. Let her determine the pace or you may risk alienating her."

Willy blushed slightly as he realized that letting Bob out more frequency had caused him to act a bit more wolfishly than Veronica may have felt comfortable with. He resolved to tone it down a bit.

_Unless she starts it first_, Bob chimed in.

"Thank you for letting me know about this Sherman. It gives me a great deal to think about," Willy said thoughtfully, starting to rise, but Sherman held up one hand. Willy returned to his seat, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"There's more?" he asked.

"Tupik-Ra has been working with the Police Department releasing our surveillance video. They confided in him that they have found evidence of the intruder as well – things that the fire did not consume," Sherman seemed uncomfortable.

"What is it?" Willy asked, his fear rising.

"Whoever broke in intended harm upon Ms. Carmichael. They found the remains of a bag and forensics showed the remains of duct tape, a gag, tools and a stun-gun. This individual is hypothesized to have broke into both the apartment and her studio with the intention to torture Ms. Carmichael for an unknown purpose." Sherman said slowly, his own disgust with the information apparent.

Willy froze. For a moment, he couldn't believe the words coming out of his friend's mouth. Terror for Veronica and fury that someone would want to harm the most inoffensive person he'd ever met warred within. _The man was still out there. _His fear spiked with that thought.

"Do they have any leads?" he asked, numbly.

"They are pursuing a few now. They are searching medical facilities with new burn victims and seem confident that he'll turn up shortly. Considering the toffee trap coverage and what he had to do to escape them, I am confident that he'll turn up shortly."

"She shouldn't know about this for now. I want her to feel safe," Willy insisted.

"That is something only you can decide – although, I would recommend against withholding the information for too long. She may resent you for trying to protect her." Sherman nodded and jumped from his seat.

Willy rose and thanked the small man absently, his thoughts whirling. He must have zoned out for a moment because he felt a small hand tugging at his trousers. He turned with surprise to see Sherman offering a silk shirt in a rich dark chocolate brown.

"Your heart is in the right place, Won-Ka. You have made great progress in reaching out and caring for Ms. Carmichael. We judge that despite her trials, her own feelings reflect your own. Follow your instincts and things will turn out well for both of you."

Willy took the shirt with a smile and Sherman crossed his arms, bowed and exited the room.

--

Veronica had managed to stave off the panic attack and finished putting her wild hair into its typical messy bun. Bloody mop! She thought viciously blowing a wayward strand from out in front of her eyes. Without its daily regimen of products and blow-drying it was waving uncontrollably – puffing up to enormous proportions like some insane Texas beauty queen.

Willy returned bearing the promised shirt. He seemed somewhat preoccupied, "Here you go! As promised."

She quickly slipped the shirt on, enjoying the weight of expensive silk sliding sensually against her arms. She set to work buttoning the shirt and rolling the sleeves to her forearms,

"Thank you!"

Willy enjoyed her enjoying the shirt – the deep color suited her indeed. It warmed her complexion and made her eyes seem more green than normal. The warm riot of hair appeared more copper than brown next to the color of the shirt. _Looks like I can add color coordination to the growing list of Oompa Loompa talents_, he thought to himself.

"Ready to meet the rest of the Buckets?" He asked.

She grabbed her messenger bag and slung it across her body, "Ready."

Always the gentleman, he offered his arm and she rested her hand in the crook, allowing him to guide her from the room. They travelled a dizzying array of hallways, crossing and recrossing multiple times. "Geez! How big is this place?" she asked exasperated, as they had been walking steadily for 10 minutes.

"Right now? I'm not sure. The factory tends to grow on its own. I have a team exploring the far reaches; they're supposed to be reporting back in a week or so," Willy explained.

She couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

They arrived at the Wonkavator and he held open the door to allow her to step in. "Are we leaving the factory?" she asked, wrapping one wrist in the purple velvet loop hanging from the ceiling.

"Not this time. The Wonkavator is not only a means of transportation outside, it goes to every room in my factory as well. You might want to brace yourself." He warned, pressing a button.

Veronica shrieked as the Wonkavator plunged into free-fall, corkscrewing as it fell. Willy was supremely unaffected, as if plunging to his death was an everyday event.

Knowing him, it was.

There was a minute slowing before the Wonkavator lunged in a vertical direction and she was swung almost to the ceiling with the momentum of the change.

"How are you sticking to one spot?" she asked desperately.

"Dunno. Good balance I suppose."

He leaned closer to wrap one arm around her waist from behind, the other resting on the top of his cane. Oddly enough, it was as if the man had his own gravitational field. Veronica found that she could stand unaffected by the violent changes in direction.

"Don't talk about the project in the open without me clearing you first. The Oompa Loompas are everywhere and I think I may have found a way to start it up again. We'll be able to talk at the Buckets. My workers keep to a tight schedule and respect their privacy." Willy's warm breath tickled the back of her neck and she couldn't repress a shudder of delight at the sensation.

"Are you cold?" he murmured in her ear and drew her closer to share his body warmth.

"Thank you." She whispered, closing her eyes to the disorienting blur of light and color as they plunged through the factory. Her subconscious was telling her that he was safe and she relaxed into the sensation of being held in the crook of his strong arm and against his firm body.

The Wonkavator slowed and came to a stop and Willy's arm reluctantly released her. "Here we are, safe and sound."

Before them was a large steel door. Willy paused and took out a huge key ring and began sorting through them muttering under his breath. "I've got to get this thing better organized." He gave a cry of triumph before using a large old-fashioned iron key to unlock the huge door.

He paused dramatically, violet eyes gleaming with delight. "I have to confess. I've wanted to share this with you for a long time. I hope you can appreciate the fruits of my labors." Then he pushed open the door.

Veronica took a moment to process the immensity of what her eyes were frantically telegraphing. She blinked a few times, frozen on the threshold. Willy took her hand and led her inside.

A pastoral wonderland lay before her. A huge waterfall thundering at the far end of the gigantic room perfumed the room with the heady smell of chocolate. Myriad other tantalizing scents filled the air and she closed her eyes to breath them all in. Where were these wondrous smells coming from?

When she opened her eyes, she noticed the strange-looking plant life dotting the room. "Are these from Loompaland?" she asked curiously, crouching to regard a pale yellow buttercup along the grey stepping stone path.

He smirked, "Indirectly – notice anything, yet?"

"There's so much to be seen. It's a virtual wonderland! How did you manage to get plants to grow…" she froze her inspection of the buttercup as she realized what the rest of her senses were arguing with her eyes about.

"This is candy?" she whispered in awe. The whole room, the plants, the rocks – everything was made of candy.

"Surprise!" Willy laughed.

Veronica could only gaze around in shock. The amount of care and work that went into even one plant, much less a whole room of infinite plants was staggering.

"Oh, Willy!" she said in quiet respect.

"Go ahead, take a nibble – anything and everything is open to sample. I started this room when I first opened my factory and it seems to have taken a life of its own," he knelt swiftly and plucked a tiny dandelion from the grass. Holding it out to be nibbled, she quickly obliged and was delighted with the sweet floral flavor that was tasted more from the nose than the tongue.

"Why do you need me again?" she asked mildly peevish at the sheer genius of the room. How was she expected to come up with anything like this?

"Because you have a talent for single perfect pieces. My gifts lay in the manufacture of many," he said matter-of-factly, tugging her along the stepping stone path. With that information, she was able to study a tree – a sugar maple to be totally correct. Most of the leaves were identical, not fitted with the variance of small imperfections and vein detail that made up the leaves of a real tree. She started to feel better about herself again.

They approached a small ramshackle house, one that had seen more bad times than good in the middle of this candy paradise. She could smell eggs, rashers and toast and could hear the soft murmur of voices from within.

This must be the Bucket household, she marveled. Why did they move the entire house here?

Veronica realized the answer as soon as they entered.

"Morning Buckets!" Willy called cheerfully.

The small room was glowing warmth. Golden light spilled from the fireplace, gleaming gently against polished metal utensils. Simple pottery plates and bowls were filled with creamy scrambled eggs, smoky bacon gleaming with fat, and a rack of perfectly toasted bread were set on the long wooden farm table. Mismatched chairs hosted a strange gathering of people who turned to greet Willy as he came in.

"Everyone! This is Veronica Carmichael – I know you remember me mentioning her." Willy announced, guiding her to an empty chair and helping seat her.

"Quite the gentleman, isn't he?" joked a small old woman dressed in a nightgown and kerchief on her soft white hair.

"Indeed he is," she said softly, feeling rather intimidated by all the new faces.

Charlie was seated at one corner and he gave her a quick wave and a grin, "Morning Ms. Carmichael. Let me do introductions. This is my mother, Clara," he indicated a small dark curly haired woman with bright laughing eyes and a shy grin.

"Thank you for having me Clara," Veronica said, smiling at the friendly face.

"Our pleasure. I'm sorry we have to meet under such unfortunate circumstances – but we're glad you could join us," she said. Clara appeared not to be too many years older than Veronica.

"This is my dad, Noah," continued Charlie.

The raw-boned short man with dark hair and eyes and a cheerful hangdog expression raised his hand in greeting, "Hello!"

"This is my Grandpa Joe, Grandma Josephine, Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina," Charlie finished, pointing out the grandparents as they were named.

"Yeah, yeah. Nice to meet you – let's eat!" grumbled Grandpa George.

Willy removed his hat and set the cane in the old tin umbrella stand by the door and quickly seated himself as dishes started their migration around the table.

Veronica took a slice of toast and a single scoop of eggs for herself. Willy frowned at the small amount of food, but said nothing. She did however, pour a cup of steaming coffee with relish and sipped with an ecstatic expression bordering on nirvana. "Mmmm! Great coffee!" she said, savoring the hot liquid as it trickled down her throat and hit the bottom of her stomach with a satisfying splash.

"Thank you. It's the only way to pry me out of bed in the morning," said Clara, enjoying her own cup.

Light conversation filled the air and Veronica basked in the homey atmosphere. It was something she missed from her youth. Her family, after bouncing from activity to activity through the week always made a point of enjoying a large breakfast with each other before church on Sundays. She'd always been in charge of pancakes. She and Reggie had tried to reinstate the tradition between the two of them, but it never had the same family feeling.

Once folks were full, conversation dwindled to a content lull – sipping of liquid the only sound. Charlie started clearing the dishes without being asked and Veronica rose to assist him.

"I think there is a way to salvage the Exodus Ceremony presentation." Willy said, doodling with a ring of water left by a glass.

"The Exodus Ceremony is what the Oompa Loompa are calling the anniversary of their migration from Loompaland," Charlie explained as he scraped plates and handed them to Veronica to wash at the tiny sink.

"So that's what you meant. After taking a bit to them, I understand what significance the migration has for them." Veronica said as she ran water to begin washing the breakfast dishes.

"I'm going to set up a room as a workshop for you Veronica. It'll be accessible only to you and I'll tell them that you value your privacy greatly and it would offend you to have them intrude in your studio without invitation," Willy said thoughtfully, trying to work through details as they came to him.

"Too true – although I'll have to make sure I don't inadvertently offer invitation."

"I hope you don't mind, but I'll be emphasizing your distress from losing everything in the fire and you using work as a coping mechanism." Willy said, shooting her an apologetic glance.

She worked silently, little did he realize that he was speaking the truth and no degree of exaggeration was necessary.

Clara was perceptive however, "Mr. Wonka, why don't I go with Ms. Carmichael to pick up some basics while you set up her workshop?"

Willy smiled gratefully at Mrs. Bucket, the threat to Veronica still heavy on his mind.

"Thank you! I appreciate your help. I'm having a hard time figuring out what I need to do first. Do I need to contact the fire department before going out there to see if anything can be salvaged?" Veronica asked wistfully.

"I'll call them and let you know. They might still be digging through the rubble trying to figure out what happened," Willy said.

Willy decided to tell her this evening what he had learned about what had happened to her apartment. There was an off chance she may recognize the man who was after her. "Reggie and Spencer are expecting a call on their cell phone as well. If you'd like to call first before heading out, I'm sure it would set their mind at ease."

Charlie and Veronica quickly finished the dishes and left them in the drainer to dry. "Would you please escort Veronica to my office to use the phone, I'll join you in a moment," Willy suggested.

They left the small house and Willy turned to Mrs. Bucket. "There's something I need to fill you in on before you head out. Thanks to our surveillance, we managed to get evidence of someone breaking into the studio and her apartment. Whoever it was wasn't breaking in for altruistic purposes," Willy said, only mild sarcasm coloring the last comment.

"Is she in danger?" Mrs. Bucket whispered, one hand clasping her throat protectively.

"I don't know. Just keep your eyes open and if you see anyone tailing you – get someplace public and give me a call," Willy reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a bright purple phone with a stylized "W" in bright gold on it. "Just hit 1 and it'll dial Charlie – we'll be sticking together to get the studio set up."

"Alright Mr. Wonka, but I can't think why anyone would want to hurt that poor woman," Mrs. Bucket said quietly, pulling on her new wool coat and slipping the phone in her pocket.

"Me either," Willy said softly.

Mrs. Bucket gathered her purse and left the house to meet Veronica at the front gate. Mr. Bucket spoke up as soon as she was out the door, "Do you think they're in danger going out?"

Willy shook his head and regarded the man solemnly, "No – not with your wife going along. Whoever is after Veronica wants her alone. They're going to be out in public surrounded by too many people."

"Mr. Wonka – what are we getting into here?" asked Grandpa Joe worriedly.

"My intention is just to keep Veronica safe and let the authorities handle the rest," Willy reassured them.

"Bullshit! You're trying to be a knight on charging steed for that young woman," Grandpa George said from rocking chair by the fire. "She's a pretty little thing – but she's going to be trouble for you," he warned.

"Nonsense George!" insisted Grandma Josephine. "I think it's rather romantic. You just keep on doing what you are, boy."

"Pink hearts swirling about that one," laughed Grandma Georgina passing through reality for a moment.

Willy blushed for a moment before gathering himself, "Um..yeah. Charlie, let's boogie – we've got so little to do and so much time to do it in…" He paused.

"Strike that and reverse it," everyone chimed in.

"Hey that's my line!"


	20. Chapter 20

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Okay, I came up with a compromise that all parties seem happy with. I've quit conniving with the Oompa Loompas and Mr. Wonka had dropped the bounty and all threats of chocolate withdrawal. We've agreed to judge a Loompa Idol contest – although I don't know if we can afford Simon's bar bill. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 20**

Clara Bucket and Veronica Carmichael strolled the city street in companionable silence. The holiday decorations were up and bright lights and colored streamers added a bright touch to the dreary day. Snow was still falling in light patches off and on as they visited the shops.

Clara had directed Veronica to a Marks and Spencer. After changing immediately into the first outfit they could find, since the clerks were regarding her eclectic apparel with a jaundiced eye, she picked up most of her basic requirements. One pair jeans, pale grey cargo pants, a couple of shirts, one zip front sweater with hood, socks, plain black boots, underwear and a few personal supplies were all that she grabbed despite Clara's protest for more. Veronica had been living simply for a long time and knew what items were critical and was able to keep the purchase under €100.

Clara nodded with approval as Veronica picked out a pair of men's wild maroon and black print bedroom slippers to replace the tattered specimens she had worn to the store. She had swiped them from under Willy's desk as she made her phone calls realizing that going out into the slushy streets in socks wasn't conductive to a long and healthy life.

"So what next? Is there anything else you need?" Clara asked, as they stopped by a tea shop for a quick cup before braving the brisk weather once more. The warm busy atmosphere was a welcome relief from the brisk wind and cold wet flakes.

"Nothing I really need right now. I want to go to my apartment building to see if anything can be salvaged," Veronica said over the rim of her steaming mug of hot cocoa.

"As you please then. How long had you lived there?"

"About five years. It wasn't a lot, but it was mine," Veronica said softly, starting to realize her loss.

"I'm sorry this happened to you. It's a terrible thing, but you haven't lost what is most important." Clara said, sipping her own mug of fragrant Earl Grey. "You are fine, your family is safe. It was only things that were lost – things that can be replaced."

"Indeed. I worry that I'm becoming more and more reliant on Mr. Wonka and his charity though," Veronica frowned. "It's not that I don't appreciate his help – far from it! I just feel like I am losing control over what's happening to me."

The other woman nodded sympathetically remembering their own transition from the extreme edge of the poverty to living in the strange world of the Chocolate Factory. "He is rather overwhelming at times. Mr. Wonka starts off on an idea and you find yourself swept along rather than let him down," Clara set her empty mug down. "But he has one of the largest hearts ever known and isn't afraid to do everything in his power to help someone or do the right thing."

"I know. I also want to make sure that I have my own say in the matter though. I'm not some pity project. After this project is done I don't want to rely on Willy to get my bills paid or find a new home. I've got to have some self-reliance, damn it!" Veronica scowled, setting her mug down with an angry thump and gathering her bags

Clara wisely stared at her and waited – this was a ploy that worked on Charlie many times. It apparently worked on Veronica too.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I just want to be able to stand on my own two feet without running to Willy for everything. I know he means the best. He's a wonderful man," she said softly.

"You just want to know what he's getting in return. Why is he doing this for you of all people?" Clara replied, sagely.

"Exactly. I'm no one. Why pick me?"

"I think you underestimate your appeal, dear," said Clara. She made up her mind to show the downcast young woman something special. "Here! Follow me for a moment and then we'll head toward your building."

Clara took Veronica's arm and together they walked three blocks toward Cherry Street in silence. They stopped in front of a festively decorated candy store. "This was Mr. Wonka's first store. It's run now by Bill and they use it for testing new candies for public release before world-wide distribution," Clara said. Veronica just studied the sidewalk with a mildly rebellious expression on her face.

"Yes, yes. Great things start from small places…"

"Look," Clara ordered, gesturing through the large plate glass window.

Veronica rolled her eyes and looked, only to have her jaw drop in amazement.

Her candy globes!

The store was quite busy with boxes of the candy globes set out for display in hundreds of colors, designs and décor. Everyone who walked out of the shop had at least one box and judging by the display tree, they made stunning Christmas decorations as she'd first envisioned.

"They've been selling since last week and are very popular. Mr. Wonka wanted it to be a surprise," Clara said, smiling.

"I knew it would work!" she whispered ecstatically. Something of hers finally worked out the way it was supposed to.

"See. Mr. Wonka just gave you a hand – you're the one who did all the hard work." Clara said, scanning the crowd around them with a protective eye. "Let's get to your apartment before it gets dark and we can't see what we're doing."

--

Veronica's jubilant mood abruptly disappeared as they approached the ruins of her building. There were a few people in jumpsuits picking through the wreckage and a small crowd of neighbors gathered on the corner to watch them. She recognized two men in blue cloth jackets and kakis, "Tom, Dave!"

One of the men, sipping a paper cup of steaming coffee turned at her voice, "Hey Veronica! Hell of a mess, huh?"

Dave Jenkins and Tom Dailey worked downstairs from her in the drafting office. She had baked her beignets and brought fresh coffee every Monday morning as an offering to keep quiet about her living in the space she had originally leased as an office. They had cheerfully accepted the bribe and were kind when she occasionally bumped into them in the halls.

"Sure is. What's going to happen to you guys?" she asked.

"Nothing much – corporate is collecting the insurance and we'll eventually get set up in a new office. We back up all our files daily, so we haven't even lost work," said Tom, watching as one of the workers lifted what may have been a printer. "Honestly, we were more concerned about you. It was your home that went up – and I know you didn't have insurance.

"Too bad about that new office on the top floor," commented Dave. "I wonder who had that one?"

"It was mine as well. I got an investor and had just started up. Things were turning around so I might have even had a chance to find a real apartment. So much for that," Veronica said sadly.

What the fire had not destroyed, water damage and the collapsing structure had. Where a four-story brick building stood 24-hours earlier, were only the gently smoldering remains scattered across the lot. Snow was falling from the sky again sporadically and in a few spots, she could dimly hear the hiss as an errant flake landed on a hot area. It was a dismal sight guarenteed to bring down the spirits of anyone.

"I'm sorry. Tom and I were heading to the pub to have a few to drown our sorrows. Interested in joining us?" Dave asked.

"No thank you. I need to find out what I can about what comes next. Is there some kind of report or investigation being done?" she asked, shuffling the bags a bit more comfortably.

"Nah. They already know that the fire started in your studio. Apparently, they're on the lookout for some guy who broke in," said Tom, sharing the gory details with relish.

"My studio?" she asked, a cold chill running down her back. Her lips felt numb. For a moment, she thought that she had misunderstood Tom.

_What the hell was going on here? _

Dave looked a bit guilty when he realized that the juicy details wouldn't be quite so thrilling to Veronica.

"Yeah. I think there's some detective or something that wants to get in touch with you to ask you some questions," Tom said.

Veronica's mind was racing. Who had broken into her apartment? What about the security measures on the studio? _Someone was after her…_

It was one of her worst nightmares reanimated from the grave of her past.

"Really, well then, I should probably go check my messages. There's nothing to salvage here is there?" She turned robotically and started walking toward the factory. Tom and Dave shrugged and turned themselves to head for the pub. "G'Luck Veronica. Hope things turn out for you!"

Clara caught up with Veronica after a few steps. "What's going on? You look pale as a ghost!"

"Someone broke into my apartment and the studio. The fire broke out in the studio," Veronica said woodenly, her mind still cycling through its hamster wheel of questions. "I can't save anything because there is nothing left for me to save."

Clara put her hand on Veronica's arm to stop her. She was frightened for the woman. Her face was white and her eyes bright - she looked feaverish. The stressed woman stared back at Clara with shocked eyes. "You knew."

Clara nodded guiltily, "Mr. Wonka let me know as we left and asked me to keep an eye out for anyone following us."

Veronica pulled away and started walking faster toward the factory. Her face was losing its pale color and a flush of anger colored her cheeks. "Oh, did he now?" she said between gritted teeth.

"Veronica, he was trying to protect you. He didn't want to frighten you after everything else that had happened." Clara protested, breaking into a trot to keep up with her long strides.

"How very considerate. Why bother my pretty little head with such minor details like someone had broken in and set fire to everything I own," she snarled. The bags crackled and popped with the vigor of her movements.

"It's not like that!" Clara cried, seeing that Veronica was furious.

"It isn't? Well then, good! I'm sure he'll be glad to illuminate the situation when I speak with him."

"Maybe you should calm down first. You might say something that you regret," Clara warned. Her breath came in short spurts and dark hair bounced into her eyes.

"Perhaps – but in either case I don't feel safe out here and I don't want to do any more shopping."

Veronica hurried through the hoards of holiday shoppers, anger and fear warring within her. She felt like stranger's eyes were crawling all over he - that every movement was subject to intense scruitny and disected like some alien anthropology experiment. Every face seemed to be twisted and leering at her. She had to get back to the factory!

Clara tried her level best to keep up and kept a wary eye on Veronica. She was pale but sweating, her eyes darting about like a hunted animal.

They reached the front gate and Clara took the lead to punch in the code to the small one-person gate to the side of the main gates. Veronica stood impatiently to the side when she caught sight of a stout man in a windbreaker and skull cap puffing up the sidewalk toward them, "Hey! You!" he shouted, running toward them.

"Oh no!" breathed Clara, working faster at the complicated lock.

Veronica felt the adrenaline spurt through her system. It was fight or flight time!

Was this her arsonist? Was he going to attack them?

"Freeze!" the man was yelling, getting closer. He was groping for something to pull out of his pocket. Fear clamped a strong hand around her throat – her heart pounding so hard she could feel it slamming against her ribcage

"Hurry!" she nearly shrieked at the other woman. Clara threw open the gate and they bolted through to slam it shut just as the man reached them.

She was just turning to sprint to the safety of the factory entrance when the man's arm shot through and latched onto her coat. Veronica screamed in terror and dropped her bags to beat at his arm.

"I told you to wait," he growled, his face darkening in anger. He started to draw something out of the parka pocket, something small and dark.

Clara joined in the struggle, hitting man's arm with vicious accuracy using a small clenched fists, "Let her go you monster!"

Veronica screamed shrilly again – her feet scrabbling in the slushy snow for traction trying with mindless teror to throw her body clear of the object he finally jerked from his pocket. _She was going to die…_

The man flipped open a black wallet with a badge on one side and an official-looking identification card on the other.

"Will you calm down! I'm Detective Cavenhaugh of the Metropolitan Police Department. Are you Veronica Carmichael?" he growled, releasing her to fall onto the slushy courtyard.

He was the police! She took a shaky breath and was glad to already be sitting on the ground, so weak were her knees with relief. She panted, trying to get her breath back. "Yes, I am," she was finally able to answer in a small voice.

Clara helped her to her feet as the door behind them crashed open and Willy and Charlie sprinted out. "Are you alright? What's going on?" demanded Charlie as he reached his mother.

Willy grabbed Veronica by the shoulders and looked frantically into her eyes, "Are you alright?" She nodded and she was relieved all over again to be clutched to him. She wrapped her arms around him and let herself shake with the aftermath. Willy stroked her back soothingly.

"Sorry to frighten you, Ms. Carmichael. Mr. Wonka, I arrived early for our appointment and caught sight of these two coming in. I'm afraid I didn't come across right," Det. Cavenaugh apologized sheepishly, his hands resting on the gate.

"I'm fine," Veronica said firmly, pushing away from the worried man to stand on her own. She was still mad at him, damn it!

"How can I help you, Detective?" she asked the man, a mask of poise dropping over her. Willy reluctantly stepped away.

"I need to ask you a few questions. Might I come inside?" Det. Cavenaugh asked, shooting a questioning glance at the Chocolatier.

Willy nodded and with a few short jabs at the control pannel next to the entrance and the small gate sprung open. Det. Cavenaugh came inside and sauntered over to where Veronica held herself stiffly. "I'm truly sorry Ms. Carmichael. If was insensative of me to approach you like that. Please excuse me."

She nodded, "No hard feelings, Detective. I overreacted."

"Shall we go inside?" asked Willy, shivering slightly in the cold.

They all went inside.


	21. Chapter 21

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Last night was the first round of Loompa Idol. All I'll say is yeah, they can dance, but they sure can't all sing. Yerg! Mr. Wonka says his face is sore from holding that weird smile for so long and Simon drank himself under the table after the first five contestants. Who would have guessed I would be thankful to be partially deaf? _

– _Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 21**

The factory seemed strangely empty as they entered. It wasn't until Willy directed them to a small conference room not too far from the entrance that Veronica realized the Oompa Loompas had made themselves scarce around the Detective.

Charlie and his mother took the packages from her, offering to deliver them to her room while she spoke with the police. She readily agreed, taking a moment to disentangle herself from the multiple bags before handing them over. Willy watched with a neutral expression before turning and leading the way into the room.

Veronica took a seat at the brightly polished glass table. Comfortable seats were decorated whimsically with large neon colored polka-dots reminiscent of jawbreakers. There were eight seats in all. On the table was a hospitality set with glasses and a pitcher of water. Willy took the large seat at the head of the table to her right and Det. Cavenaugh took the seat across from her.

"Let me start out by saying that you are not under investigation, Ms. Carmichael," Det. Cavenaugh started, removing his jacket to reveal a blue shirt and paisley tie with dark slacks – much more of a respectable impression than the thug that had confronted her outside.

His professional appearance paired with his words did much to relax Veronica. "I'm pleased to hear that. Fire Chief McGee at the scene had given me the impression that I was going to jail."

Cavenaugh snorted, "He's an ass. Whoops! Pardon my French."

She smiled, "No need to apologize for summarizing so neatly."

"I'd just like to talk to you about who might have broken into your apartment. Do you wish Mr. Wonka to remain?"

Veronica raised an eyebrow and replied coolly, "I don't see why not. Mr. Wonka seems to know much more than I do."

Willy squirmed uncomfortably as Det. Cavenaugh looked puzzled, "How do you mean?"

"I learned that Mr. Wonka was aware of the intruder in my apartment and did not make me aware of the situation this morning before we departed to buy some clothing replacements," she explained, keeping her eyes flatly on Willy.

"I'm sorry Veronica. I didn't want to alarm you unnecessarily after the shock you received last night," Willy protested, leaning forward and begging for forgiveness with his bright violet eyes.

He was trying to give her the Kicked Puppy™ look with limited success.

"That might be so. But sending out Mrs. Bucket to escort me without letting me know about the danger is equally reprehensible," Veronica shot back, her eyes flashing with anger.

Cavenaugh shook his head. These two had it bad. Why did he have to get all the bloody domestic calls?

"Okay kids, knock it off for now. Mr. Wonka, why don't you take the opportunity to fill Ms. Carmichael in on what you learned and I'll jump in when appropriate?" he said soothingly.

Thank God for the hostage negotiation training.

"First I need to verify you are who you say you are," Cavenaugh pulled a tape recorder out of his pocket and set it on the table.

"Full name please."

"Veronica Eunice Carmichael"

"Eunice? Really?" asked Willy with a smirk.

"Shut it!" she growled, it was a sensitive topic.

"Age?"

"33."

"Seriously?" Cavenaugh looked dubious.

"Yes."

"Address?"

"As of last night before the fire? 145 Bradshaw Street."

"Okay. Mr. Wonka, would you care to talk about how you know about the intruder?"

"Part of the security measures installed in the studio was thermal imaging. The security system activates when you leave, turning on the thermal camera for surveillance. When the man broke in, we got footage of him as he snooped around – not real useful for identification purposes as it's a thermal outline rather than a regular picture. He also hit the pressure plates activating the Toffee Traps." Willy explained.

"Toffee Traps?" asked Veronica.

"It's one of my inventions, liquid toffee shoots out of high-pressure canisters at strategic points to coat the chosen target. The toffee hardens almost instantly thus ensnaring the intruder."

"How did he escape then? How did the fire start?" asked Cavenaugh.

"When the alarm activated, my surveillance team here was supposed to notify me ASAP. They were hesitant to call me as we were at a party. They decided to keep an eye on the intruder and when he showed signs of coming around, would notify me."

"Why the delay? Why not notify the police immediately?"

"I wanted to make sure it wasn't misguided curiosity. Do you know how many people I've intercepted trying to break into the factory over the years? Many of them were just interested in what happens here. I usually escort them out with a stern lecture. The ones who tried breaking in for purposes of corporate espionage," at this Willy smiled grimly, his top hat shadowing his eyes and giving his presence an ominous air, "I am legally able to deal with as I please and I persecute within the full letter of the law."

"But this wasn't your factory, Mr. Wonka. Why didn't you call the police immediately upon learning about the intruder," Cavenaugh repeated, a stern note in his voice dissuading any further evasion.

"Ms. Carmichael and I are currently working on a sensitive project. That was the reason I insisted on such heavy security measures. My work is of high interest to my competitors – bringing in the police without verifying the situation endangers my privacy and company's security," Willy said and a slow firm voice. His body language fairly screamed, _drop it already_!

"So when did the fire break out?" asked Cavenaugh.

"Apparently the intruder managed to get an arm free, knocked some of the candy-making equipment off the counter and used that to free himself. We think it was a torch or heat lamp. It would hurt like hell, but possible. When he got free, he scrammed, but left the heat lamp running and that's what started the fire."

Cavenaugh relaxed, "I can buy that. You were kind enough to provide us the surveillance tape and your story corresponds to what was on the footage." He turned his attention to Veronica.

"Ms. Carmichael, when did you become aware of the situation?"

"I learned about the intruder from Mrs. Clara Bucket – Charlie's mother. She offered to escort me to the store to buy some replacement clothing since everything I owned besides my coat and bag had been ruined by smoke and soot," Veronica explained, leaning forward to grab a yellow frosted glass, filling one for herself.

"Where did you go today?"

"Marks and Spencer off of Whittingham Street, The Flowerhead Tea Room, Bill's Candy Store off of Cherry and the ruins of my apartment building." She recited promptly, taking a sip.

She nearly spit the liquid out – she had taken mouthful expecting water and tasted lemonade instead. Veronica shot a hard look at Willy who smirked slightly and turned his head to regard the ceiling innocently.

Cavenaugh saw the exchange and took a glass for himself and poured a cup. He too took a sip and the expression of consternation that crossed his face was comical. He swallowed with some difficulty and studied the liquid in the glass. "Lemonade? But it looks like water."

"Oh, it is. When you poured the water into my 'Licious Lemon Glass, it becomes lemonade," Willy explained casually.

"Kind of sour – you might want to sweeten it up a bit," commented the detective.

"It adjusts according to the person. The more jaded you are the more bitter the taste."

"No wonder mine taste like straight lemon juice – the price of being a good cop I guess," said Cavenaugh with a rueful smile.

Veronica nodded. Hers had tasted nicely tart with a good bite, but not face-wrenchingly sour.

So what did that say about her?

"Ahem! Back to the topic at hand. Ms. Carmichael, would you be kind enough to take a look at some pictures for me please?" the detective said, and pulled a small stack of 5X7 photographs from inside his jacket pocket.

They were mugshots of various men. She leaned over to study each carefully. All but one was unfamiliar. Each man was hurt in some manner, some wearing bandages, others sporting black eyes or missing teeth.

The last was a man who looked like he'd been in a bad chemical accident. Portions of hair were missing off his head and face around what had been a moustache and beard. His skin looked red and raw on the left side of his face, neck and body. It was his face that caught his attention. The expression of equal parts fear and resolution didn't match. He should be darkly amused…arrogant…

"This one looks vaguely familiar. Give me a moment and I'll have it," she said, staring hard at the picture. She closed her eyes and thought about his face and how it should look. The roving eyes, the lustful smile at a distance…two men laughing as she worked at a steel table…

She had it!

"I don't know his name, but I remember seeing him talking my old employer," she said, excited that she was able to place the face.

"What's the name of your former employer?"

"Victor Brahm. He's got offices in several places - London, New York and Los Angeles. I worked for him while he was in town for several months earlier this year," Veronica said, returning the photograph to the detective.

Willy sat up straight, his attention peaked.

"His name is Jacob Giles Manning. He runs an auto body repair business in Manchester. We picked him up at Charing Cross Hospital last night with first and second degree burns to his head, torso and limbs. The clothes he was wearing were crusted with a hard substance that later was tested to be toffee."

Veronica gasped and Willy reached out to hold her hand for support. She grasped it gratefully. They were both enthralled by the revelations the Detective was sharing.

"I can't really tell you much more as the case is active, but let's just say I think you should stay with Mr. Wonka for the time being. There's more going on here." Cavenaugh said darkly.

"Is she in danger?" Willy asked his voice deeper than normal. _No one threatened Veronica!_

"Not that we're aware of right now, but this case isn't closed yet. There is a good chance that Mr. Manning might not be working alone and we're not certain if a threat is present."

Veronica gripped Willy's hand tightly, her heart in her throat. Had Victor snapped and set a contract out for her life? This was all starting to sound like a bad Hollywood movie!

…_I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse._

Victor had said it jokingly when he propositioned her again and again. Apparently he wasn't joking. Why was he doing this now after blacklisting her name? It wasn't like her employment with Willy Wonka was public knowledge – it was the only thing she could think of to cause this kind of jealous response.

"Veronica. I know you're angry with me for not telling you earlier. But you seem to be in danger. Will you stay with me in the factory until this matter is put to rest?" Willy asked, his eyes deadly earnest. He held her hand just as tightly and she could tell he was afraid for her. If her face was as pale as his with worry, no wonder everyone was worried about her health. His face was deathly white and his hand trembled slightly in her grip.

She looked to Cavenaugh for verification, "If you were me, would you say I was in danger?" she asked bluntly.

"Ms. Carmichael. As an official representative of the Met Police, all I can say is that the potential is there. However, I have a daughter about your age. If she asked me that question, I would say 'Yes'. Take the offer – we'll know one way or the other shortly." The man said gently, but no less serious for his soft tone.

Veronica turned to Willy, "I appreciate your offer. I will stay, but I insist on keeping to the original timetable of the project. I will earn my place while I am here." She said sternly.

The present danger clarified her emotions for now. Her growing affection for Willy would have to be put on the back burner until after the project was completed. Being in such close proximity was exciting, but confusing. She refused to fall sway to his charms under the circumstances unless she had the means and wherewithal to stand on her own two feet to make a free choice.

She was no Snow White waiting for her Prince Charming to make things all better. She would rebuild her life.

After all it wasn't the first time.

--

Willy felt a huge weight drop off his shoulder with her agreement. Her serious expression lent a great deal of credibility to her demand to be put to work once more. He was impressed with her resilience and determination to do what she was hired for.

Detective Cavenaugh asked a few more questions, making her run through the previous evening several times to confirm her story.

"Thank you Ms. Carmichael, Mr. Wonka for your cooperation. We'll be in touch keeping you abreast of what we can. Is the number you provided earlier the best way to rea \gggggkloklllll''vxzzzzch you two?" he asked, pulling on the ugly parka and returning the black skullcap to his thinning hair.

"Yes, it's my office number. Please give us a call if you have any further questions," Willy said, gesturing for the detective to lead the way out of the conference room. Willy escorted him to the door and bid him farewell. They watched as the bulky figure waddled through the sleet coming down to the gate. Willy shut the door after ensuring the detective had exited safely, leaning against the doors with closed eyes.

"I'm still annoyed with you, Mr. Wonka," Veronica said severely.

He opened his eyes to watch her. Her arms were crossed at her chest and she glared at him. The new clothing scarcely fit better than her old. Her copper chestnut hair curled in tendrils around her face, escaping from its messy bun and her green eyes seemed to boil with golden flecks. Light blue jeans with black doc marten boots, sage green shirt under her worn black coat was casually stylish enough to make her appear, again, like a youthful college student.

He closed his eyes sighed marveling at her appeal without trying. It was the kind of thing that models tried too hard to achieve and never could.

"So what else did you buy? Anything good?" he asked casually, opening his eyes and pushing away from the door to lead the way down the cavernous hallway.

"Don't change the topic, Willy," she snapped, following.

"I already apologized. Once someone apologizes, as I understand it, the injured party offers forgiveness and the topic is dropped."

"You asked, but I didn't forgive you yet."

"Do you?"

"I understand you are concerned about me. I will forgive you if you quit trying to wrap me in bubble wrap."

"Sounds like fun actually." He mused, approaching the Wonkavator.

"It isn't – you can't move and it's noisy as hell," she scowled. As his questioning glance Veronica replied, "Spencer, packaging tape, bubble wrap and too much tequila – don't ask."

They stepped inside and he pushed a button marked "Workshop." They started to move.

"Okay – now that you're aware of the threat. Do you promise in return not to go out without letting someone know and come with you?" Willy asked seriously, the intensity of his eyes halting her glib answer.

Veronica paused. She hated to admit it, but his concern was well founded as she was seriously out of her depth here.

This was a side that not many got to see of the famous man. He may come across childish and annoying, but there was a mind like an adamantium trap underneath. How else could he become a world famous Chocolatier at such a young age in a notoriously competitive market? Families who had been in the business for years and histories spanning centuries didn't take lightly to being upstaged. He'd survived vicious back-stabbing, personal threats, travelled the world and started from scratch to rise to the top of the confectionary field and he had many enemies as a result. Willy knew what he was up against.

"I promise – I'll be working night and day to try and recreate what we lost anyway," she grumbled.

"Then I promise to try and not be so overprotective," he said.

"In that case, I forgive you," she said, swaying gently with the movements of the Wonkavator. The ride this time had been pleasantly sedate. Of course, Murphy had been following the conversation…

A sudden change in direction threw her across the space to crash into him, she hit his midsection with her shoulder in a textbook tackle and he went down with a loud "Oomph!" His top hat rolled and bounced off the walls of the Wonkavator with the rapidly changing movements.

"Ow!" she groaned, climbing to her knees only to be knocked down with another change in direction.

"I think I'm in more danger of harm here anyway."

--

Rather than get thrown to the ground again, they agreed to sit on the floor of the Wonkavator and she had fun sliding from side to side with occasional zero gravity drops and a few rough landings.

Veronica felt cheered by the disgruntled expression on Willy's face and the bumper car mode of travel. Every time he'd replaced his hat, it would get knocked off with another impact. He'd finally given up and just sat, cross-legged and cross armed, pouting as he careened around the floor and occasionally colliding with her.

"Here we are. It should be a shorter ride from your room – I can't promise any smoother though," he grunted, rising to his feet and stooping to grab his hat from where it rested on the floor. He dusted it off with careful black latex clad hands, held it up for a squint-eyed inspection before placing it with great ceremony square on his head.

Willy gestured to a door. As she reached for the handle he held up one hand in warning. "Wait. Make sure you open the door with the same hand you will every time. There's a palm reader on the door handle and it will only open for you. Not even I will be able to enter without a heck of a lot of dismantling."

With that warning in mind, she reached out with her right hand and opened the door. There was a beep and Willy nodded with satisfaction, "Okay it registered. Go on in! Shoo!"

She looked around. There was a sense of disorientation – it was as if she stepped from the factory to return to her lost studio. The same wooden floor, the same countertops, it was even the same dimensions. The familiar computer desktop sat in its accustomed place, the same swirling gold "W" on a purple background.

"I feel like an extra on Dr. Who!" she announced. This was surreal!

She opened a drawer to peek inside. Veronica was mildly comforted that the utensils, although similar, were of differing brands than her own. She looked up. How was there a frosted glass skylight? They were in the heart of the factory, right?

Veronica pointed up with an inquiring air at the skylight and Willy just smirked.

"Think this will work? The Oompa Loompas won't come in without your permission or presence."

"Absolutely. How do you keep managing to create things like this in a few hours?" she wondered.

There was that maddening smirk again, "Magic"

She glared at him and he was honest enough to admit, "Okay – magic and a team of a dozen extremely talented workers."

"Thank you again, Willy. I know this is to your ultimate benefit, but you have been more than kind to me than you really need to. You've brought me into your home, offered me your protection and hospitality. I'm more than honored," she said humbly, feeling rather guilty for her anger earlier.

Willy stepped closer, to take her hands and to smile down at her, "It is my pleasure, dear lady."

He started to lean in for a kiss, and was hurt and confused as she stepped back, still holding his hands.

"Willy wait."

"What's the matter? Am I being too pushy again?" he asked worriedly.

"No! Not at all. I just think we need to talk for a minute about what's going on here."

"Do we have to?" Willy whined.

Veronica had to smile at his tone. "Yes. Don't worry, I'm not about to declare that I'm in love with another man and go flouncing off to meet some muscle-bound cad in tight pants on a white horse to go riding off into the sunset for wild passionate monkey love."

Willy looked a little wild-eyed, "Um…good?"

"Not my type – that type is usually flaming gay or passionately involved with himself."

"And the wild passionate monkey love?" he asked hopefully.

"Not right now."

"Some day?"

"Maybe."

"Oh," Willy said with mild disappointment.

"Willy, you are a wonderful man who helped me give my life a jump start, taken me in out of the cold and is offering to stand between me and uncertain danger. I have to admit I am attracted to you," she said, squeezing his hands in her own.

"You are?" he squeaked, thrilled. His heart was starting to soar and a huge smile cracked his face, making his violet eyes sparkle.

"At the same time though, I want to ensure that you feel the same way not out of a sense of obligation or expectation, but because you like me for who I am," she explained gently, taking one hand to rest gently against his cheek to soften the blow of her words.

"Ensure? How?" he asked suspiciously.

"Give me my space while I work," Veronica said pleadingly.

His expression fell and he was silent for a moment. He stared at their joined hands. She had not let go. Willy remembered what Sherman had talked about, letting her set the pace – and if he read the situation correctly, she wasn't saying "No – never!" she was saying "Not yet".

"It's funny," he said softly, returning his gaze to her lovely face. "I was under the impression that I should be saying that to you as the world-famous Chocolatier."

She gave him a soft wistful smile, "That may be. But there are things about me and my past that I need to tell you about. Things you need to know before making a decision. Things I'm not quite ready to talk to you about yet," she admitted, letting her hand fall from his face and taking his hand in hers again.

"I'm far from perfect. I have problems that will interfere with a relationship and you deserve that honesty up front. I don't play games, I don't tease and you deserve better."

_Better than me_, she thought to herself.

They stood, staring at each other, hands clasped for a long moment.

"I understand," Willy said sadly. "You're afraid that I'll take advantage of you while you're here. That I give you all of this in an effort to win you to my bed," His eyes glittered with dark promise for a moment. "You fear that I'm taking you in after your building burned down just so you'd have to be closer to me and would feel obligated to submit to me." He looked tall, dark and ominous, holding her hands, top hat shadowing his eyes and face.

But she trusted him.

"I'm not like that Veronica," he leaned forward to gently kiss her forehead with petal soft lips before stepping back and releasing her hands, his face soft and sad in the light. "That's not the kind of man I am, and I would never ask that of you or anyone else. You have to be true to yourself first."

"You're right. I don't know about your past – but it's not going to change my mind either. I like you because you're funny, witty, smart, and stubborn and so many other things I can't list them in a day if I tried. But, I understand why you need to finish the project first before you can let yourself believe that I…," he paused here, swallowing hard.

_I'm falling in love with you_, he thought, trying to force the words from reluctant lips and failing.

Veronica's eyes glittered in the light, tears threatening. "Thank you! Willy, I want to…dear God help me, I want to right now. But it isn't the right thing to do. All I can say is, I should be done by the Exodus Ceremony and we'll go from there…together… if you still want to."

She stepped forward to greedily place a lingering kiss on his lips, hot breath cascading against his face. Her lips were warm against her own and the promise behind them made Willy's head swim. He longed to hold her close and his arms ached with resisting the urge. He felt wetness on his cheeks and couldn't tell if the tears were hers or his own.

"Give me three weeks. That's all I ask for," she begged, eyes closed as she inhaled deeply, memorizing his sweet scent.

"You have it. It's just a few weeks after all," he said lightly, but somehow his heart was screaming that he was going to lose her forever. He kissed Veronica once more and released her.

"Til then, Lady mine," Willy whispered. He turned and did the hardest thing he'd ever done - harder than closing the factory, harder than leaving Charlie with his family after he'd won the factory, even harder than facing down his father to chase his future.

He left the room and Veronica to her own devices.


	22. Chapter 22

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Mr. Wonka is in bed this morning suffering from the aftereffects of hitting Simon's seabreezes too hard after listening to "My Heart will Go On" from the Titantic soundtrack for the fifth time in a row. He started gulping them during a heart (and ear) rending rendition by the crew from Candy Floss productions. Poor baby - Loompa Idol continues tonight!_

_**Warning: Adult content ahead – not for sensitive readers if matter of adult sexual practices offend you. You have been warned!**_

– _Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 22**

Over the course of the next week, Willy was only able to see Veronica in glimpses from a distance. She threw herself into the new studio with unsettling dedication bordering on obsession. The Oompa Loompas she came into contact with were prompt in telling their employer what she had said and done.

"She's asking about our traditions," said Sherman the first morning after they had parted.

"Ver-Oni-Ka sat down with the Loremaster to hear our legends." Said Mic-Ka after Veronica had asked for and received permission to visit the chief in the Oompa Loompa village.

Willy had caught sight of her in the Wonkavator that morning as she headed out with a cheap knapsack and grim determination on her face. Dark circles rimmed her eyes and she looked tired.

"She's been interviewing Nei-Vil, Ori-Vil and some of the tribe's original hunters about horn swagglers, swangdoodles, schnozwhangers and our other frightful beasties."

Then there had been a period where she entered the studio and hadn't come out for three days. Monica was frantic with worry. She had taken to leaving trays of food outside the door only to return and find them, uneaten.

"She's asking for samples of the new flavors you developed, shall we give them over?"

Willy took the information with quiet nods and gave his approval when his workers relayed request for supplies. It had been a week since he'd last spoke with her and his heart was heavy. The Oompa Loompas were worried about him – his normally chipper attitude was cracking at the seams.

He'd even had to apologize twice for snapping at folks – once to Charlie who was quick to forgive since he knew the reason, and once to an Oompa Loompa who'd mistakenly added too much lime flavoring to a batch of lollipops Willy was working on. The Oompa Loompa in question had accepted his apology gratefully, but still reported the matter to Mic-Ka. The chief took the words with a heavy heart.

The growing love between Won-Ka and his mate was under much stress from Ver-Oni-Ka's mourning for her lost home, he thought. Mic-Ka had agreed with Sher-Man-Ra that her seeming attachment to the studio as a coping device was unhealthy and her avoidance of Won-Ka threw the secret preparations for the Exodus Ceremony of the Oompa Loompa into turmoil.

All they could do for now was help their employer and friend cope with the loss of his beloved.

She had e-mailed him from her studio, letting him know that the initial design had been scrapped, but her new creation would hold true to the dimensions they'd decided on. Willy felt the sting of rejection with that message, but quickly settled down into a zen acceptance and faith in Veronica, her abilities, and that she would return to him.

Willy made an effort to distract himself by throwing his energy into preparing for Christmas and the Exodus Ceremony. It was really no matter to keep himself busy, showing Charlie the ropes and consulting with the tribe the details and itinerary of the celebrations. Business was thriving with the renewed attention paid to it.

However, very tellingly, Willy did not approach the invention room unless he was supervising Charlie during testing.

He made no effort to create new candies. He had learned the hard way that when his heart wasn't there, the candy he made reflected that. Willy had decided not to inflict test subjects to that particular horror – there was still enough broccoli flavoring to gag a horse. He was patient that the urge would come upon him one again, but for now the days flew by in quick progression.

At night was a completely different matter.

He tossed and turned at night, staring at the stained glass above his head, trying to picture Veronica as she labored over her design. He could picture her, slouched over her desk area with colored pencil working furiously as she sketched, messy hair was falling unnoticed into her eyes and one hand propping her head as she leaned forward. He could almost see her thin scarred hand and they moved with the precision of a surgeon, deftly soldering small pieces together or kneading warm sheets of hot sugar.

He longed for her. It wasn't just her body he craved, but simple conversations – jokes and smiles shared that were better than any cup of hot coffee to start his day. The long rambling talks at the end of the day that delved into philosophy, history and any range of esoteric topics that relaxed him more than anything else.

When Willy was able to sleep, it was not peaceful. He tossed and turned, dreams and nightmares twisting the waking and dream world until at time he had difficulty telling if he was asleep or awake.

His nightmares were of Veronica being kidnapped, only to discover her lifeless body in the courtyard – a man's laughing face mocking him from behind his closed gates, "See! See you fool! I can get her at any time and any place – you or your factory cannot protect her!" Her body seemed so small and fragile – twisted into an unnatural position, pallor grey with lifeless eyes staring accusingly into his own.

Willy would struggle to lung forward, to pick up her lifeless body, to viciously attack the man who mocked him. His body ached with strain, sobs choking his throat and tears blinding his eyes – only to wake up, sweat drenched, his heart pounding with suppressed fear and fury. He would usually arise, throwing himself into the maniac pace of his working life until he could finally exhaust himself into sleep once more.

Nightmares he could understand. It was the others that knocked him for a loop – causing him to snap irritably at everyone due to restless nights.

It was his dreams of Veronica as he danced with her at Reggie and Spencer's wedding, her soft warm body pressing close to his; her sweet smell hanging heavy in his nostrils. She glowed in his arms, her beautiful face smiling up at him with lazy sweet promise in her green-gold eyes. The ivory dress clinging to sweet curves, and she smiled as his hands pulled her close, to press her body into her own.

She tasted like honeysuckle and he eagerly pressed his lips to her own. Their kiss would start out slow and sweet, rising in intensity as he slid his arms around her waist and shoulders to feel her body against his own from chest to knees. He nudged open her soft pink lips and slipped a tentative probe of his tongue into her warm mouth. Veronica responded ardently, her small wet tongue slithering against his own in a sensuous dance of taste and texture. He moaned her name as she glided small butterfly kisses from his lips to his sensitive throat.

Her hair felt like wild silk as he ran his naked hands through her hair, gently encouraging her explorations and laughing at the sensation of her tongue tickling his throat before swooping down to capture her lips once more. Her gently shifting body, so soft and warm caused him to tighten and she whimpered as he nudged against her taunt belly. Their kisses changed, from soft and hesitant, to hotter and more demanding. She seized his head in her hands, running cool white fingers through his thick hair, knocking the hat from his head in her abandon. He caused her to gasp as he kissed his way hotly down the long pale column of her throat and nipped at the strong pulse with his teeth. She threw her head back, eyes closed and groaned as he cradled her, leaning over to kiss further down to the delicate valley between her small breasts.

"Veronica!" he gasped as she ground against him wantonly, and an evil chuckle vibrated against his chin as she reached down to gently caress his growing erection.

Now it was his turn to throw his head back and gasp as her clever fingers made his pants feel too sizes too small. She leaned forward to capture a terribly sensitive ear in between her teeth and growled softly as she suckled mercilessly. His secret spot discovered, his knees nearly buckled and she laughed softly.

"My turn," he murmured as he reached up to cradle her head in his hands before kissing her harshly – his passion making him clumsy. While her lips were engaged, his hands trailed down to outline the soft swells of the small breast that had so taunted him that night in their flimsy casings. Her whimpers caused him to grow harder and he groaned at the sensation. Her nipples were hard against his palm and he paused to explore their texture for a moment, making her pant with arousal. Greatly daring, he slipped the straps from her shoulders to allow the dress to fall away, gracefully starting to reveal her breasts to his hungry eyes…

Willy would always wake up at this point – the frustration of realizing it was just a dream was paired with his embarrassment of waking up with his erection straining the bottoms of his pajamas. Gritting his teeth, he had to close his eyes and try to pick up where he left off in his dream as he reached down to free the encumbered member and bring himself to completion. Thankfully though, after such a session, he would fall into a deep dreamless sleep for a few hours before waking for the day.

He hadn't had this many erotic dreams in almost thirty years. It was bad enough as a teenager; with his mixed feelings about the female form confused with chocolate making – those dreams just left him feeling more confused than anything else. It was a relief when his hormones finally settled down and the dreams vanished – until now.

The anticipation of wondering what was to come next was terrible, but he had promised to keep his distance to let her work – and the reports from his workers cemented her dedication in his mind. It was part of what he admired the most about her. In the mean time, he would just have to grit his teeth and bear it.

Two more weeks to go.

--

Veronica initially ignored the knocking on the studio door – there was a tricky bit of spot welding to be done and she couldn't drop it. "Hang on!" she called, gently using the soldering wand to hold a piece of green-black candy in place. She mentally counted to three and delicately lifted the pressure of her fingers. The piece held. Quickly, she returned the soldering wand to its holder making damn sure it wasn't going to tip over or resting against anything it could burn.

She sat up with a sigh and grabbed the bed sheet acting as a drop cloth she'd taken from her bed and draped it over her work to conceal it from view.

Veronica rose and limped over to the door, stretching sore limbs as she moved. Opening the door, she saw Sherman, dressed in his impeccable charcoal grey suit and natty plum colored tie. "Good Morning, Sherman," she said politely, crossing her arms and bowing. She hid her wince from sore back muscles.

"Actually, it's 'Good Evening'," he corrected. "Would you happen to have a few moments?"

She shot a hesitant glance over her shoulder and decided that her work could wait a few moments. Veronica grabbed the messenger bag she was frankly afraid of leaving any room without, gently took a small long wooden box of highly varnished wood and placed it inside the bag before slinging it across her body. She exited the room and made sure that the door closed firmly behind her.

"We promised Won-Ka that we would not intrude, Ms. Carmichael," Sherman chided, noting her caution.

"It's for your safety more than mine," she lied smoothly. "I've moved some stuff around and don't want anyone to get hurt."

"As you wish," he acknowledged. They walked for a few minutes.

When Veronica had asked to learn more about the Oompa Loompa and their ways, Monica had introduced her to Sherman. She now understood the role he filled as the spiritual leader of the tribe and the position of trust he held as the confidant of the Chocolatier that haunted her thoughts. They had struck up a tentative friendship and now she welcomed the occasional intrusion from the shaman as a short break from her obsessive work. It was one of only two times she ever left the workshop.

"You missed another meal. Monica is concerned," he gently scolded her.

She ducked her head bashfully, "Sorry – I lost track again. If you don't mind, can we grab a sandwich or something I can take in with me?" Her stomach was now announcing its great displeasure at being ignored once again. The pangs were so pronounced, she actually felt mildly nauseated.

"Only if you promise to have some tea with me as well so we can talk," Sherman said.

She agreed and he guided her to a small room that doubled as a kitchen for the workers. She bent from the waist and politely asked the small man for a ham and swiss sandwich, pickle, and mixed crudités. He nodded and as they lingered, a worker balancing a plate on his head with the required items approached. She took it and thanked them for their help – handing each a chocolate-covered espresso bean as a tip. They eagerly took it – her tips had become a widely-sought after delight as the Exodus Ceremony grew closer.

Sherman chuckled at their antics - although they were worried about her relationship with their beloved Won-Ka, she was still widely respected and liked for her efforts to thank the Oompa Loompas in their own manner and customs.

Sherman led the way to his office and she quickly took a seat on the chaise lounge, sitting cross legged with the plate in her lap. "Would you like some?" she asked, biting into the sour pickle.

'No thank you. Would you like some tea?" he offered, putting the kettle on to boil.

"Is this going to be a session?" she asked suspiciously. Veronica had privately admitted to having some problems that she wouldn't mind talking about to a trained psychiatrist, Sherman had cheerfully offered his services. Knowing that Willy trusted him with his deepest secrets made it easy for her to follow with attempts to reveal her own.

"Only if you want it to be – I've got 'Constant Comment' as well," Sherman offered diplomatically.

"No – I need to start working through my issues. I just don't have too much time," she said, chewing her lip in thought for a moment before finishing off her pickle with one savage bite.

Sherman ignored the weak protest and prepared the special tea to help relax her enough to talk without prompting her panic attacks. It had taken two visits before he'd realized what she was suffering from and made efforts to soothe her before they started now. Veronica had grown highly skilled in disguising her weaknesses.

He handed one steaming mug in her size, taking a smaller mug of a different tea for himself. She sipped appreciatively before setting the mug down to nibble on her sandwich.

"Last time we spoke, you told me of your panic attacks. Have you determined what triggered them as we discussed?" Sherman asked, noting her appetite had dropped off when confronted with talking about her problems.

"Yes. When I get too overworked or stressed. I also notice they tend to happen when…"she fiddled with her food and blushed, "…when I...um, get aroused or worked up…in that way."

It had cost her a large chunk of pride to admit that.

"I see – emotional surges, then. How are these elements connected?" Sherman asked, sipping his own tea. He maintained a casual body position, and his apparent ease with the topic set her at ease as well. After all, she was talking to someone from a culture who ran around half naked in a jungle, how could she be embarrassed.

"It started…after…" she set the plate down and grabbed the mug, taking a large swallow to gather her courage to talk about her past.

"It started after the attack. The panic attacks happen as a result of what went through when I was in college." She whispered, staring into the wisps of steam. The tea started to set in and she could feel the trembling muscles on the verge of full lock-up relax.

"Is this something that you feel comfortable telling me?" Sherman asked, in a low soothing voice.

"No, I never want to talk about it again. But what I want and what I need are two separate things," she said, her eyes at half-mast and breathing slow and steady. Speaking of things she both wanted and needed…

"I have something for you to pass on to Willy for me," she said in a sleepy voice. She reached down to her bag and pulled out the polished wooden box to set on the table next to the chaise lounge. "Would you please give this to him? It's important."

"Of course. Now make yourself comfortable – we may be a while. Whatever is waiting for you back in your studio can wait. This is the most important thing right now," said Sherman hypnotically, his deep voice low and soothing, like being wrapped in a warm blanket after walking exposed through a blizzard.

Veronica drank back the rest of the tea and swung her legs up to rest reclined on the couch.

"Now. Let's start from the beginning, tell me about the young college student named Veronica Carmichael…"

She spoke for a long time. The tea managed to flatten her emotional tone down so it felt more like relaying the plot of a rather involved movie rather than the emotional nightmare it was. After relaying the information for the first time, she felt rather relieved. She had managed to get through it without collapsing! Sherman asked a few questions and she answered them as honestly and openly as possible – her embarrassment and humiliation a simple nagging background noise rather than the shrieking cacophony it usually was.

Veronica was drifting off to sleep as she felt the softness of a blanket drawn up over her. With great effort, she opened her eyes to regard the tiny man. Sherman had an expression of sadness and infinite compassion on his face, "Rest."

"Thank you," she slurred, her eyes drifting close and she fell asleep for the first time in three days.

Sherman patted her hand before moving away to take the case and quietly leave the room.

There was a pair of Oompa Loompas moving down the hall talking animatedly with each other. Sherman reached out to snag the arm of one. They gave him their immediate and full attention.

"Have someone watch the door. Ver-Oni-Ka is finally resting and will want to return to her studio as soon as she awakens. We'll need to bring her some breakfast – coffee and plain toast and a pre-packaged sandwich to take with her before escorting her back. I need to go deliver this to Won-Ka before speaking with Mic-Ka." Sherman ordered.

The two men shot a startled look at one another before nodding and bowing. They took up stations on either side of the door to act as tiny honor guards in bright yellow jumpsuits.

Sherman hurried down the hall to Willy's office. He had been ensconced within all day, working – or so he claimed. Sherman knocked twice before an unusually gruff voice said, "Come in."

Willy's hat was on the statue of William Shakespeare again. His jacket was off and hung on the coat rack along with his usual cane. The man himself sat behind the cluttered desk. He looked tired and slightly disheveled. There was a five-o'clock shadow coloring his pale cheeks and Willy looked up from his paperwork, running on hand through his hair to make it fly up even more. "Hey Sherman!" he said wearily, "Just finishing up the accounts. I remember why I usually avoid doing this now."

"I managed to pry Ms. Carmichael out of her studio," Sherman announced. Willy brightened considerably and stood up to come around the desk. The tiny man climbed into a seat and the taller man perched on the edge of the desk, "And? How did she look? What did she say? Did she ask about me?"

Sherman held up a hand, silently asking for forbearance. Willy halted his questions with great effort and waited.

"I managed to get some food into her. She was able to take me into her confidence," Sherman said.

"And?"

"I cannot share with you what she confided. I give her the same courtesy that I grant you. She took tea and fell asleep at the end of our session – I believe she'll be out for a few hours," Sherman replied, watching the Chocolatier fidget.

"However, I can tell you that you weigh heavily on her mind and she works hard to free herself of the constraints that keep her from exploring the possibility of a relationship with you."

Willy smiled a bit sadly at that.

"Ver-Oni-Ka is an amazingly strong woman. Her perseverance is to be admired and cherished. When the time is right she wishes to share with you what she had shared with me this evening. Only then can you make your decision on whether or not to court her."

Willy was silent. _He already knew the answer to that!_

"She greatly admires you and misses you too Won-Ka. Have patience."

Sherman offered the wooden box.

"What's this?" he asked, taking the box from the Oompa Loompa.

"Ms. Carmichael asked me to bring this to you. She said it was important."

Willy opened the box to see a strange assortment of flowers and plants within. It took closer inspection to realize that they were made of candy – finer than any he'd made.

There was a pink carnation, a deep red rose – just beginning to flower with shades of orange and peach streaking the leaves, a sprig of rosemary, an oak leaf and some strange flowering plant it took a moment for him to recall – celandine.

He puzzled over the assortment for a moment before a wide smile creased his face. He turned to dive across the desk, lunging for the computer terminal, falling across to crash on the floor on the other side in his haste. Willy's smile never faltered.

"What is this?" Sherman asked wondered, watching the taller man with concern. Had he finally snapped?

"It's a riddle – and a message." Willy said, fingers flying across the keyboard.

Something came up on the screen and the blue-green glow made Willy's pale skin and stubble look ghastly. But the light in his violet eyes was livelier than ever before.

"She's saying, 'Have patience and strength, for I love and desire you. Good things are to come'," He said, throwing back his head and crowing with delight.

"You get this from assorted shrubbery?" Sherman asked, amazed? "How do you know this?"

Willy was dancing around the desk. "The Victorian language of flowers, my friend."

Sherman could only shake his head in disbelief – Willy ignored him and continued his victory dance.

"Thank you, Sherman. Have I told you lately how good you really are?" Willy pranced over, gave the small hand a hearty shake and bolted out heading for the invention room.

He had candy to make!


	23. Chapter 23

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. After one more night of tumultuous eliminations (we split a bottle of Jack Daniels when things got too rough), we actually have some palatable choices to start work on the next round of Loompa Idol. (Incidentally, once you have heard a great rendition of 'I feel Good' by the next possible Godfather of Soul, life feels pretty good!)_

– _Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 23**

Sleep banished, stomach refueled and demons temporarily put to rest, Veronica plunged back into the studio to work once more. Her days and nights ran together as time lost all meaning to the demands of her intense concentration. Often after a challenging step, she took a step back to realize that hours had flown by without notice. Her body hurt and her eyelids felt like sandpaper. Taking a short break to stretch, Veronica was astonished to note that her head and neck had welded itself into a solid painful red-hot lump of lead.

This wasn't the first time she'd explored her ability to work and focus for long periods of time, but this was the longest she'd ever done so. Checking the computer – she was shocked to note that it had been in fact nearly two days since her cat-nap on Sherman's couch after her session.

Wrinkling her nose at her wafting B.O, she decided that it was time for a break and to refuel before plunging onto the next section. This step promised to be a long and arduous session and she needed steady hands, relaxed mind and clear eyes to complete it the way it needed to. She was taking no short cuts here.

After ensuring her work was cool enough, she carefully constructed framework from balsa wood poles and draped the drop cloth over it to ensure no inadvertent peeking as she exited and entered. Veronica made sure her equipment was safely on standby - no hot sugar left on the stove and no heat lamps burning before leaving the room.

She walked slowly toward the Wonkavator – her limbs heavy and eyes dull. Veronica hated taking breaks. It seemed so pointless and it just reminded her of how much she still had left to do and she never felt rested since the harpy of her conscience wouldn't let her relax.

There was no Wonkavator, so she pressed the recall button and waited. Crossing her arms, she reminded herself of why working so hard was so important. Besides honoring the small people she had come to like and respect, it was her challenge to herself to finish the project on time for Willy.

Willy. Veronica's mind paused on that thought as an island of respite from the whirlwind of self-imposed pressure. She missed him desperately. Willy had a way of looking at a situation and helping her realize how stupid it was and making her laugh about it. His moments of silliness interspaced with pin-point laser accuracy observations of human nature. His magical mind jumped from point to point in seeming nonsensical ways, but she could follow him. The depths and breadth of his knowledge were staggering.

It had been a long time coming, but she missed the casual contact of a touch on the arm, a comforting hug and those delicious kisses. Those kisses that told her so much, yet were at odds with his wonderful naivety with normal male/female interaction – his puzzlement was an endless source of delight to her.

She leaned against the wall and smiled at her thoughts, even as she heard the approach of the Wonkavator, zooming from locations unknown behind her.

Veronica missed Willy's beautiful sparkling eyes when he was excited, his ridiculous pouting when something didn't go his way. She missed his wild flailing and high-pitched complaints or arguments when they disagreed. Most of all, she missed those slow smiles and smirks that invited her to share his delight or a shared secret.

Veronica heard the Wonkavator arrive and she opened the door to see the object of her thoughts waiting within.

Willy looked worn out himself. There was the shadow of stubble on his cheeks and his eyes looked sunken and bruised. The normally impeccable attire was rumpled from long wear and he carried his jacket draped over one arm.

Like she was one to talk.

Still, his eyes lit up with delight and a smile crossed his face upon seeing her – making him look rather like some debauched gentleman returning from a night on the town to her eyes.

"Hi!" he said, jabbing a button and moving to one side to allow her entrance.

"Hey." She said, taking a moment to study him – her senses trying to adsorb as much detail as possible for future reminiscing.

"You stopping for the night?" he asked, casually – he was obviously looking at her in the same way.

"Just taking a break. I looked up ten minutes ago and realized it was two days later than I thought it was," Veronica smiled ruefully.

"That can happen. I feel like I blinked and missed today after working in my invention room." Willy admitted. He switched the jacket to the same hand balancing on the cane and tentatively reached out for her hand. She took it gratefully and relished the warm contact.

"I missed you," she whispered, wanting nothing more than to collapse in his arms and sleep curled into his warmth.

"Me too," he said, pulling her closer to wrap one arm around her shoulders in companionable silence.

They rode out the abrupt shifts and changed in direction in quiet enjoyment – taking pleasure in simply being in the presence of the other.

"Reggie called. They're back from their holiday. Needless to say he's begging for a visit from you." Willy rumbled softly against her.

"Hmm? Already?"

"It has been almost two weeks. You should probably go see him. We're also due an update from Det. Cavenaugh tomorrow sometime – do you want in on that?"

"Yes please. I'll call Reggie after I get a shower. I reek."

"No you don't you smell…well not your normal wonderful self…but not bad either."

"So you're telling me that I stink in a nice way?" she asked, leaning her head back to watch his face with a smile.

"Umm…maybe I should rephrase that."

"Nah. I love honesty."

Willy's hand ran gently up and down her arm in a soothing gesture. She enjoyed the contact and closed her eyes against the painful glare of lights as they flashed by. She really needed sleep, but there wasn't enough time.

"You know, you don't have to meet the original deadline if it's going to do this to you," said his soft voice apparently following her thoughts.

"Yes I do. It has to be completed for the Exodus Ceremony. It means so much to both you and them. I won't let you down." She said, not opening her eyes.

"What good is that if you drop dead from stress and exhaustion before then?"

"I'm not going to drop dead. I need to do this for you," she said, realizing that her brief respite was over and taking one last breath of his sweet peanut brittle scent.

Veronica moved away from Willy as the Wonkavator slowed to a stop and opened the doors. "Listen, I need food. Would you care to join me?" she asked, tentatively stepping out and turning to face him. She didn't want to stop the exhausted man from finding his bed.

"Yes! Only if you take a shower and join me for a private meal rather than yet another sandwich," he smirked at as her mouth opened in protest. "Uh-uh. I know that's what you've been living off of, and as a proper host I refuse to let you subsist on such sub-standard fare."

She was ready to object when her stomach let out such a loud howl of protest that she shut her mouth and blushed at the noise. "See! She knows what you need. Go on. I'll join you in your room with a meal after I get cleaned up myself." Willy beamed in triumph.

Veronica could only nod and Willy bowed and blew her a kiss as the doors closed and the Wonkavator shot off once again.

She hurried inside her room and shucked her clothes wildly. No telling how fast he was going to be back and no way was he catching her naked in the shower – not after catching that last impish gleam in his eye. She grabbed jeans, underwear and Willy's brown silk shirt before lunging for the bathroom.

As she turned on the water, she grabbed her razor and lathered up her legs – giving them a quick swipe before showering. Steam filled the room and her nasty sticky-feeling hair stuck to her face and the back of her neck. Grimacing, Veronica hopped in groaning with the wonderful heat beating through her body.

Relaxing, she took a moment to mentally take stock.

Physically: She was toast – running on reserves. Fueling and sleep were required to function further.

Mentally: Surprisingly well.

Opening her eyes and grabbing the shampoo, she explored the new scabs on her memories. Her psycho-therapy with Sherman had gone a long way to diminishing her panic attacks. With his help, she was able to revisit Marcus's attack without going into full lock-up. That was something the expensive therapist her parents had sent her to after the attack had never accomplished – then again that therapist had never actually listened to her and was more interested in keeping his eye on the clock than helping.

Thanks to his help, she was able to recite the details – details she last spoke in court to prosecute. Each repetition got easier, but Sherman had warned that he would no longer give her the tea to help her get through it. She tested the memories and found them still painful, but not as overwhelming as they used to be.

It was her personal goal to be able to tell Willy what kind of damaged goods he was pursuing by the Exodus Ceremony on Christmas eve. Veronica felt that with her hard work – both on the sculpture and with Sherman – she would be able to tell Willy in a factual way what had happened to her.

Rinsing and slathering her thick hair with conditioner, she quickly lathered her body. Her legs shrieked as the soap slid over irritated skin. She ignored that as she ignored the demands of her muscles to sink to the bottom of the tub to curl up and sleep in the warm rain.

"I was in my last year of college. I was working part time and pursuing my degree work in culinary arts. As I never dated in secondary school and as a result I was quite naive and inexperienced with boys. In return I was safely ignored by them," Veronica closed her eyes and recited, the shower keeping her body relaxed even as her heart started to race.

"Then I met Marcus…"

She worked her way through, stopping frequently to let the shower rinse away tears and to choke back sobs. She pushed on as her body told her that she was in danger, to stop talking, that she was dying. At times she felt strangled, like she couldn't breathe, that her heart going to explode. She ignored it and fought past the threatening edge of the panic attack

She pushed to continue her tale.

She pushed for her future, to leave this terror behind.

She pushed and fought for the sake of the wonderful man who was coming to see her shortly, who she longed to be with, mentally, physically and spiritually.

Veronica fought for love.

By the time she was finished, she was shaking and her throat was raw with repressed tears. Her breath burned and the water was cooling rapidly. Veronica quickly rinsed and shut off the shower, tired but triumphant. She had done it – and without the safety of the emotion-clouding tea.

Sounds of someone moving around in the outside room caused her to snatch the towel off the rack and clutch it to her body in fright. Willy was already out there! How long had she been in here?

"Hello?" she called, roughly rubbing herself dry and hissing at the small cut on her knee from the razor.

"It's just me!" Willy's friendly voice called back. There were more clangs, thumps and it sounded like a squeaky wheel.

"I'll be out in a second!" she yelled. She tried pulling on the jeans, but they clung stubbornly to her legs, not sliding on smoothly. Veronica cursed and jumped up and down, tugging with careful strength to pull the damn things up. They reluctantly obliged, but not without pulling painfully on her skin. She hated putting on jeans while still damp!

Grabbing the silk shirt, she ignored the underwire bra to pull it on over her head before wrapping her hair in the towel. Bloody thing was too uncomfortable to wear for long periods anyway – the shirt was large enough to get away with going without it. Roughly drying her hair to remove as much moisture as possible, she then hung the towel back up.

She opened the door and gasped with relief as the cold air flowed into the steam-filled room.

Willy waited, comfortably dressed in plum shirtsleeves and black pants with a black velvet smoking jacket. His fashionable black boots had been replaced by stocking feet thrust into the wild crimson and black slippers she had bought him. His hair was still slightly damp and the dark strands clung appealingly to heat-flushed cheeks. It was apparent that he had taken the effort to shave, the tender skin of his face still pink from the razor. He had left the top hat elsewhere and was comfortably seated in one of the two wingback chairs that sat before the small fireplace of her room. A wheeled cart sat in between the two chairs, various dishes were covered with silver domes.

"I hope you're hungry." He said, pulling the domes off with a flourish. Beneath lay tender slices of London broil, asparagus, roasted potatoes and beside the plate was a basket of fresh baked rolls with a small dish of light golden butter. The smell alone was enough to almost make her swoon.

"Oh! Gimme!" she said and trotted on bare feet to sit cross-legged in the chair across from him.

In a twist that was pure Willy Wonka, he poured glasses of thick chocolate milk to drink with their meal.

Veronica quickly cut the meat and shoveled a bite into her demanding mouth. Rolling her eyes with pleasure, she groaned at the wonderful taste. "Oh God! This is so good!"

Willy caught himself staring again, and redirected his attention to the meal before him. Never mind it was actually breakfast time outside, the flavor of this meal knew no time limitations. His thoughts warred within him.

_She's doing it again_, Bob whined. _Did you see the way her nipples poked up when she came out of the bathroom_?

Of course I did.

_And the way she moaned and rolled her eyes when she took a bite_?

How could I miss it. Now leave me alone – I'm trying to be good here and not stare.

_Lesson learned then – watch and enjoy, _Bob smirked.

Bringing up topics of light conversation, Willy and Veronica spent the meal talking in between bites. It was something they both missed. Between the two of them, they pondered the deep mysteries of the universe, delving into mystic matters of time and space, of the nature of the human mind…

"How can you say that the old Star Trek was better than the new? Kirk was such a mimbo! The man managed to get his shirt ripped off while just in the elevator to the bridge for cryin' out loud!" Veronica protested, waving a half-eaten roll in emphasis.

"Remind me again, what's a mimbo?"

"Male Bimbo – you know, banging any female of any race across the galaxy? Shatner used any excuse he could to make sure his shirt would get ripped off in every episode to show off his hairy chest and whatever female guest star was on that week had to throw herself into his arms."

"It's better than the whole PC mission of the Next Generation," Willy said sarcastically. "Oh sir! The Borg are attacking!" he mimicked wickedly, "Break out the anger management pamphlets – that'll teach them a lesson."

"Okay – but you have to admit, Q was a much better villain than the old klingons," Veronica said.

"Only as a duex ex machina – he was too powerful to use as a regular character."

"Was not! He was a regular enough character. They just had to take away his powers to make him work. Otherwise, can't you see him chasing Troi around the ship blipping her into those stupid uniforms from the old series?"

"I did have a thing for Uhura and all those short skirts…," mused Willy, absently munching on an asparagus spear.

"Spock was the brains, Bones the heart and Kirk was the gonads. It's that simple, follow the prime directive of non-interference but ignore it if Kirk thinks she's cute. He probably only trotted out that Prime Directive line when the girls tracked him down for child support," Veronica's rant was cut off by a huge yawn. She covered her mouth genteelly, but knew she would have to get moving quickly unless she wanted to fall asleep where she sat.

Willy saw this and grinned, "Okay – I can take a hint. I'll take this mess and head out so you can catch some sleep."

She shook her head vigorously, making the wild hair dance around her face.

"Can't. I need to work. Shit, no! I need to call Reggie first."

"Call him then take a few hours to crash," Willy insisted, gathering plates in a haphazard stack and replacing the dome on top.

Veronica just glowered at him, "Willy."

"I'm letting you work, I just don't want you making yourself sick in the process," he said, rolling the cart out the door to be picked up and returned to one of the kitchens.

She reached for her boots and clean socks and started stuffing her cold feet in, "Your concern is noted."

Willy returned and knelt by the side of her chair, taking her hands into his and looking pleadingly into her eyes.

_Aargh! He was attempting Puppy eyes™!_

She rolled her eyes and huffed, "Willy."

"Please. Why are you doing this to yourself?" he asked softly.

Veronica looked down for a moment at their clasped hands. To be fair to the man kneeling beside her, she had to let him know what he was growing into for her.

"Willy. My dear Willy," she sighed.

His heart soared as she breathed his name.

"The reason that this is so important for me is because I want to stand on my own two feet and be worthy of you." She said softly. She stroked her thumb across his long slender fingers in their habitual latex. "I appreciate all the help you've given me. But if you are truly interested in knowing me beyond a simple working relationship I have to be capable of bringing more to it than my problems. You deserve so much more than that."

"I want you to be able to look at me and know that I'm not someone you have to tend like a pet. That I share with you my own strengths and experiences, not just my weaknesses. Most of all, I don't want to become an obligation," she said, looking firmly into his eyes.

"My greatest wish is that you don't look back and think the only thing I was after was Willy Wonka, the world's greatest Chocolatier."

Holding Willy's eyes with her own, she carefully released one hand to slide her fingers up to the edge of his glove by the soft skin of his wrist. Slowly, as if expecting him to stop her, she slipped the stretchy material down and off his hand, revealing long pale fingers. Gently, she took the hand once more in hers.

"I want Willy Wonka, the warm, wonderful, loving man."

Willy closed his eyes at the tactile seduction, feeling the rough texture of her scars, the strength in her fingers against his exposed skin.

His eyes flew open as she raised his hand, palm up to place petal soft kisses on each fingertip and a slow caress with her lips to the center of his palm, her delicate breath tickling his flesh.

She leaned over and placed a final petal soft kiss on his cheek before rising to leave for his office to use the phone to call Reggie.

"I'll prove myself to you - and hopefully be worthy of your love. After all, you already have mine." she whispered, stepping past him toward the door.

"Wait." Willy's ragged voice called out.

She turned only to be caught up in his arms for the most passionate kiss of her life.

His soft pink lips were hot and demanding against hers, yet infinitely gentle. He cradled her like fine Venetian glass. Her breath came in short panting gasps as his tongue demanded and received permission to her mouth. He tasted like the finest wine and the rough texture of his tongue as it twined around hers made her groan in lust. His arms convulsed around her body at the sound wringing a soft moan of his own in response. His gloveless hand slipped through her tangled hair as if memorizing the wild weight of it.

Willy pulled away slowly, his lips bruised deliciously with the force of his kiss – her heavy lidded eyes met his darkened passion-glazed ones and a smile of seductive promise crossed his face. He reluctantly let her loose.

"You have nothing to prove to me Veronica. But I know you have something to prove to yourself. I am a patient man and no matter what happens, I will be waiting for you." He bowed and moved past her to the door. She almost staggered from the loss of him.

"Just don't kill yourself in the process." Willy called.

Then he was gone.

_Whoa_! She thought, pressing her fingers to her still tingling lips. Her cheeks felt flushed and she suddenly noticed the sweet sting of friction across her nipples from his shirt. She buzzed with arousal. For one wild moment, she wanted to chase him down, tackle him and resume that wonderful embrace.

So distracted was she, it took a few minutes to realized with delight that there was no doubt this time her usual tense response was nowhere in sight.

Veronica strode out of the room to the waiting Wonkavator, a silly grin plastered across her face and not caring. Willy's kiss was better than a triple espresso to wake her up and give her energy. Her resolve was firm and her conviction strengthened as she strode in and pressed the button for Willy's office.

_What a kiss!_


	24. Chapter 24

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. Narrowing the field down to the top five contenders of Loompa Idol was hard. My personal favorite was "Sex and Candy" and a rap rendition of "Laffy Taffy" although Mr. Wonka blushed horribly. Simon just swilled his drink and muttered something about not getting paid enough for this torture. Mr. Wonka proceeded to whap Simon upside the back of his head. He REALLY hates mumblers. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 24**

With a new sense of purpose and exhaustion nipping at her heels, Veronica strolled into Willy's office. Every time she entered the room, she was astonished at the sheer chaos. Papers stacked from floor to hip height sagged in the corners. Half-filled mugs of hot chocolate long cold and spawning life dotted the flat spaces. The sheer amount of desk toys cheerfully invited her to play. The only clear space was the keyboard – and even that was sitting on a stack of blue folders. The monitor itself was nearly lost in a sea of post it notes and fast-food toys.

Veronica wondered for a moment where the toys came from. Willy had admitted to not leaving the factory for years, yet he still had the toys?

She carefully tip-toed through the randomly placed furniture to sit at the lavender leather chair behind the desk. It was nicely worn and a comfortable dip in the middle of the seat reminded her that Willy had sat here for years building and running his empire.

It took a moment to locate the phone – it too had been buried under a small mountain of post-it notes with strange reminders like "Schnozzberries – CO136387345" or "Yellow Mellow?" on multiple pieces of colored paper.

Shrugging, she lifted the elegant receiver and dialed the number from memory.

"Hello?" answered Spencer's light tenor. He sounded stressed.

"This is the office of Willy Wonka – would you care to nibble some nerds?" she joked, enjoying being on the other side of the prank call.

"I already have, love! Why else would I stick by your brother?" asked Spencer, relieved.

Veronica felt touched at Spencer's worry.

The phone quickly changed hands and Reggie's deep voice came on, "Ronnie! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I've been working on getting the project done before the deadline so I'm a little tired, but overall I'm well."

"The project? He has you chained up in his factory still slaving away for his nefarious purposes after everything you've gone through?" Reggie sounded outraged.

"Actually, it was upon my own insistence."

"What about the fire? What happened?"

"Er... They're still investigating," Veronica neatly avoided a lie. The last thing she wanted to do was have Reggie and Spencer obsessing about her safety. She had her fill enough of that from Willy.

"I guess that explains someone named Detective Cavenaugh leaving messages on the machine while we're gone. He was just confirming your location on the night of the fire," Reggie's voice sighed. "How are you holding up? Any more panic attacks?"

"I've gotten some assistance in that respect. There's a good therapist here I've been working with. He's helped a lot."

"Really?" she could hear the surprise in Reggie's voice. She had to smile – some of their most legendary spats were over her continuing resistance to seek professional help.

"Sherman is better than Dr. Katzenberg ever was. He also works with Willy so I know he's discrete."

Reggie could hear an ocean of sub-context to her voice when she mentioned Willy Wonka.

"So how are things going between you and Mr. Wonka?" Reggie asked slyly.

"Good. Things are good. He's a wonderful man."

"How wonderful is he?"

"Reggie!" she scolded, blushing hotly.

He laughed on the other end of the line. "I just want to know in how many contexts you have told him how wonderful he was," he teased gently.

"I'm being good. I told him that I wouldn't pursue a relationship until after the contract is fulfilled," Veronica said firmly. Reggie knew she wasn't that kind of girl.

"Wait. You told him? So he was pursuing first?" There was that note of outrage again.

Veronica sighed, "He wasn't pursuing anything – he's not like that."

"I'm glad to hear that. I almost had to come down and defend your honor."

"My honor and I don't need defending - who knows, maybe it could use a little tarnish. We're two grown adults tentatively stepping from a professional working relationship to a social one. I want to make sure that if we go down this path we're doing so for the right reasons. Willy agrees."

"That's a very mature attitude. Where did it come from? Last time I checked you couldn't even talk to a guy you liked without a panic attack."

"Willy's special. He's so kind and gentle, funny, handsome…"

"This is starting to sound like a bit more than a crush from you Ronnie," Reggie said softly.

"I'm beginning to think so too. In fact, I'm working up to telling him about the attack Reggie."

Veronica heard Reggie's sharply withdrawn breath, "I'm proud of you kiddo. It's a big step. I just hope he appreciates it and treats you well."

Reggie knew how serious she was about pursuing Willy at this point with that declaration.

"Thank you Reggie. I'm scared, but it's the right thing to do if I want to ever get passed this and find love. Willy might be the incentive I need," she admitted softly.

"I'm glad to hear that. So, when can we see you?" Reggie said, happily changing the topic to something lighter.

"Um… I am on a tight time schedule to finish," she squirmed biting her lip.

"Big whoop. I demand at least an obligatory visit for the Christmas holiday," Reggie demanded.

"Don't try the guilt trip – it doesn't work on me that way and you know it. How does a quick stop on the 23rd sound? I want to buy some presents for folks here and I need an address to deliver to."

"Oh how nice – you can pick up your mail and flitter off," he said dryly.

"Okay – guilt might not work, but sarcasm does. I'll follow that up with a visit Christmas afternoon. See- I can be reasonable. Two whole visits in one week!"

"Excellent. That gives me time to download the pictures and have a lovely little presentation of our honeymoon to share."

Veronica winced. Reggie's idea of titillating pictures was lingering shots of arches, columns and the occasional male backside thrown in for good measure. Long rants about "fabulous architecture" could only be handled with large amounts of alcohol.

"Great," she lied through her teeth.

"I know you'll love it. Oh! By the way, there were a few messages for you on our machine as well. Do you want me to pass the good ones along and claim to have a wrong number for the rest?"

"Depends on who's calling," she said suspiciously.

"One shark asking if you wish to sue the owner for faulty wiring…"

"Pass."

"Johnny and Vanessa calling from France to offer sympathy. You know…he really reminds me of someone…"

"Yeah, that's why he's an actor. I'll write them a card when I get the chance."

"KXOR News calling for an interview about your reaction to the fire," Reggie said archly, already knowing her response.

"Bloody leeches! Pass."

"Your old boss Victor Brahm calling to offer sympathy. Apparently he wants to talk to you as well – something about a lawsuit?"

Hearing Victor's name dropped so casually from Reggie's lips caused a cold chill to shoot down her spine.

Cavenaugh had perked up when she identified Victor as the man the arsonist had been speaking with when he had interviewed her. The same Victor who seemed to be holding a psychotic-level grudge. _Why did he want to talk to her_?

"Really? What'd he say?" she asked, casually – sounding only remotely interested even as her palms grew clammy.

"He's in town for a few nights and offered to meet you over dinner. Frankly, he sounds like a slug, but I do have the number if you want it," Reggie said.

"I guess. No use burning bridges on top of homes," she forced a laugh even though there was zero humor in her voice.

Reggie rattled off a number. Judging by the area code, it was a cell phone since it had a California area code.

Veronica tended the conversation with a distracted mind for the next few minutes. Reggie eventually caught on and let her go. Long experience with his sister had taught him that when she was involved with something, getting her attention was near impossible. "Ta, darling!" he said as he hung up.

She sat with the phone in her hand for a moment, staring at the post-it note with Victor's number on in. Should she or shouldn't she?

"You know, if you're having problems reading your own writing, I could probably help you sound out the longer words."

Veronica squeaked in alarm and shot up to crouch in the chair – almost going over in her haste.

Willy regarded her fondly – she was so cute when startled. All wide-eyed and high-pitched.

He took a seat on a neatly hidden sofa – the print on the fabric closely resembled the stacks of files around it. If she hadn't been paying attention, she'd swear he was seated comfortably on the files themselves.

Veronica glared at him and resumed her seat, "Do I have to tie a bell to you? Don't sneak up on me like that."

"Interesting thought – but no! I was here to escort you back to your studio when ready. I want to see what the progress is," Willy said, stuck for a moment in the thought of having bells tied to him.

What horrible noise.

"Reggie says Victor has been trying to get a hold of me. I'm debating on whether or not to return the call," Veronica said, crossing her legs and leaning comfortably back in the chair.

"Hmm… That sounds suspicious. What do you think he wants?"

"I'm not sure – hence the debate. What do you think? Before or after we hear from Cavenaugh?"

While Willy pondered, Veronica studied him again. His neat clothes with their sharp creases, the soft brown hair swinging appealingly around razor sharp cheekbones, the long lean body with its cat-like relaxation. She wondered if he'd purr if she petted him… she eyes drifted close and she dozed.

"You should call. Curiosity cost nothing at this point." Willy concluded suddenly, startling her. "Grab the digital recorder out of my desk – top center drawer- and hit it so we can make sure to catch this if it does something for the investigation."

She jerked awake and nodded. Grabbing the player and fumbling with it for a moment, she clicked it on. Almost on their own accord, her fingers dialed the number on the sheet before her and switched it to speaker phone so Willy could listen in. It was with a detached sense of fear and morbid curiosity that she heard the phone ring once…twice…

Victor picked up on the third ring.

"Dulce La Vita – Victor Brahm speaking."

"Hello Victor," she said in a slow voice. "This is Veronica Carmichael, you called?"

"Veronica Carmichael – long time no see," Victor purred.

She rolled her eyes – of course no see, she was on the phone.

"I'm sorry to hear about your building – a terrible loss," he said in a syrupy sympathetic voice.

"It was quite the shock."

"I wish there was something I could do to help," he said with false cheer.

"There really isn't." What was he playing at – it was like they were speaking in two completely different conversations. There was the one they were speaking and another where the thinly veiled menace in Victor's voice took center stage. Veronica shook her head in confusion at Willy.

"I know you're busy with Willy Wonka, but don't you miss the good times working together?"

_What good times_?

"Victor, We had a short-term working relationship that went sour due to personality conflicts," Veronica said diplomatically.

"You're always so nice. But working with me – didn't it always pay off?"

"What pay? You still owe me my last paycheck."

"I prefer to think you got what you deserved – rich in experience and all that." He said, the real meaning of his words leaking through.

Veronica had had enough.

"Quite. Was there something you wanted?" Veronica said, quickly growing tired of the verbal cat and mouse.

"I just wanted to let you know that I've already spoken with the police to come clean," he said, obviously moving into a more private location as the noise in the background on his side of the phone died down.

"I beg your pardon?" she said incredulous. He confessed to what? Hiring a thug? Sexual harassment?

She shot a glance at Willy – he appeared equally confused.

"There's no way I'm giving in to your demands. Why don't you drop this charade and turn yourself in," he said in a menacing voice.

"What are you talking about? You contacted me, remember?"

"I'm talking about your attempts to blackmail me with your false charges of Sexual Harrassment. I'm talking about you hiring Jake Manning as your go-between to collect payments. I'm talking about lying to the police about how your apartment burned down and trying to point the blame in my direction," Victor said in almost a bored voice.

Veronica was caught between laughter and shock. He was accusing her? What the hell?

Across from her unnoticed, Willy stiffened in alarm.

"Victor, I don't know what you've been smoking, drinking or binging on, but have you lost your mind?"

"I don't think I want to keep talking to you, but just for your information, I have been recording this conversation and will be turning it in to my attorney in the morning. If you press forward with these charges, I will see you in court." Victor snarled and hung up.

Well, that was surreal. Veronica listened to the dial tone and stared at the phone in her hands until the harsh tone jerked her back to reality.

She replaced the handset and sat back in the chair to stare at the peppermint swirl ceiling. Massive confusion reigned. Why would he be accusing her when he was the one in trouble?

"Willy, what the hell was that?" she asked.

Willy slowly shook his head, "I'm not sure, but we have the conversation on tape as well. If this tries to come back and bite us in the butt, we're ready."

Despite the threat, her thoughts sat like congealing gravy on her brain. Her eyes throbbed and she felt slightly tipsy – she found her mind making strange jumps and starts to unrelated topics. She was too tired to be scared. Her eyes were so heavy that unless she mindfully forced them awake, they were more closed than open. The full meal sat heavy on her stomach and her mind drifted comfortably.

Veronica's eyes flew open as she felt Willy's strong arms scoop her from the chair.

"Hey! I was just resting my eyes – I need to get to work," she mumbled in protest. Her argument was somewhat weakened when a wide yawn cracked her jaws. She slumped closer to Willy's warm chest and her eyes closed against her will again.

"Right. You do that," he said sarcastically, placing her on the sofa to stretch out. "You take a nap – just for an hour or so – I'll stay here to work and will wake you. Cross my heart!" he swore, digging a lap robe out from under the couch and draping it over her body.

Veronica mumbled something that he chose to interpret as "Maybe just a cat nap" or it also could have been "You're such a bad cat" but it really didn't matter since she was fast asleep. He placed a soft kiss against her temple and straightened up.

Willy rubbed his burning eyes as he took her seat behind the desk. Wearily leaning back, he thought about the implications of Victor's call and what actions needed to be taken next. Closing his eyes, he pondered where the line was between taking action to protect her from Victor and his machinations was versus keeping her safe from herself.

Nonsensical to the situation, Willy wondered what she really wanted for Christmas.

Then he too fell asleep.

--

Victor grinned with savage glee. While her confusion was evident, she'd quite neatly given him everything he'd needed.

He clicked off the tiny digital voice recorder with a snap. With a little editing from his buddy Tom at Universal Studios, she would be confessing to her blackmail scheme in no time flat.

When Victor had been brought in for questioning at the Metropolitan Police Department little less than two hours after checking into his room at the St. George Hotel, he'd been livid. It was only after that fat bastard Cavenaugh had questioned him about knowing Jake that he'd figured out what was going on.

He'd seen the news after leaving the police station and knew that Jake had been caught. While no large sums of cash had crossed hands, there was still a connection. Victor coldly sacrificed Jake to the cops while protesting that he'd been on the wrong end of the man as well – that he was a victim!

For the last two days, he' been working extensively with his brother in-law, a hotshot New York attorney to create a case against Veronica. First he'd came forward with "letters" from her threatening to go to the press with sordid stories of sexual assault if he didn't cough up enough cash to make her happy. Thanks to his brother-in-law each letter had been "verified" and logged. He'd already been wise enough to apply for a restraining order, which in a delightful twist, her call had just violated.

Victor would just have to claim that the contact he'd had with Jake was the delivery of yet another payment to his blackmailer.

Victor leaned back in his chair in the lush hotel room with a lovely cup of Ecuador dark-brewed hot coffee in one hand. He sipped the wonderful smoky liquid and rolled it around his mouth as he pondered his next move.

The legal deposition should arrive in a few days – right before Christmas. What a wonderful gift that would make, he thought with a wicked smirk.

If the police pursued the case he would take it to media and Victor was sure that under such scrutiny Wonka would dump the gold-digging bitch like a hot rock. Then he might have a chance to step in and offer his services.

He smiled warmly at that thought.

Feeling smug, he moved to call room service - he was hungry.


	25. Chapter 25

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. We concluded the last round of Loompa Idol last night – The winner by far was a fantastic rendition of "Holiday" originally written by Green Day and sung to angsty perfection by out Loompa Idol – Smi-Li in charge of Security of the factory. Congratulations Smi-li! Sadly, Simon mysteriously disappeared after one too many "short" jokes and has not been heard from since. If you have seen him, please call (555)555-2121 as he left so quickly, he left his still-smoking shoes behind. – Stealth Phoenix_

_**Warning: Adult content ahead – not for sensitive readers if matter of adult sexual practices offend you. You have been warned!**_

**Chapter 25**

Veronica felt warm and relaxed as she drifted slowly toward wakefulness. A wonderful languid sensation filled her limbs making it feel too good to move, and when she did it was in slow motion. She smiled and opened her eyes to see beautiful amethyst orbs staring warmly into her own.

Willy brushed a strand of hair from her face with one bare hand, smiling happily. Silently he leaned down to collect a warm slow kiss from her sleep flushed lips. She tipped her head back as invitation to continue farther and the kiss deepened. She wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders to draw him closer. While his perch was tentative, since the couch she was sleeping on was narrow, her grip ensured he wouldn't fall.

Willy boldly traced his lips over her jaw and down her throat – his petal soft lips lightly brushing the skin and his warm breath tickling her throat. She giggled lightly and he popped up with mock indignation on his face. "Laugh at me will you? I'll have to teach you a lesson."

He growled as he pounced, agile fingers quickly finding the ticklish spot on her ribs and arms, she shrieked with laughter, immediately launching her own counterattack. They fell off the couch with a thud, rolling around trying to get the advantage.

They fought, growing breathless with laughter. She mercilessly dug her fingers in the sensitive areas around his thighs and ribs making him squeak with uncontrollable giggles. His wide eyes were glittering with tears from laughing too hard and she grinned down at her position of advantage, straddling his abdomen to keep him from wiggling away. Willy gleefully retaliated by rolling her underneath him and keeping her hands pinned with his own. He leaned down and used his lips and tongue to attack her ticklish neck.

She alternately giggled wildly and gasped as the warm sensation fluttered from chest to somewhere much lower. Willy must have sensed the change as he changed his rather silly attack tickling her neck to something much more purposeful with a sharp nip. Veronica gasped only to let out her breath in a sharp whine as he soothed the spot with a long lick from that wonderful tongue.

She found herself writhing against him in delight and managed to free her hands to push the jacket off his shoulders and throw it out of the way. Willy grunted in surprise as her twitching knee brushed against a rapidly inflating portion of his anatomy – she heard this and this time made the movement much more deliberate, sliding her thigh against him with one long sensuous movement.

He groaned and his own hand reached up to gently brush against the side of her breast in an unmistakably possessive manner. She attacked his lips with her own as he continued his caress, the bare palm separated from her breast by the finest silk – but it still wasn't what he wanted. Leaning away slightly, he deftly unbuttoned the top two buttons to pull the material away and slide his hand inside. They both moaned at the intimate skin-on-skin contact. He unbuttoned the shirt to expose her to the cool air. His eyes darkened in arousal at the sight of her; face flushes, lips swollen, pale breasts tipped with rosy nipples inviting him to closer exploration.

Still he paused, looking to her for her permission to continue. A look of pleading twisting her features, she took his hand, placed a kiss on the palm and placed it on her exposed breast. Clear enough invitation. She gasped, spine bowing with unbelievable pleasure as his soft hand caressed her – playing with the hardened nipples. Willy showered her with attention, kissing her hot lips, lower body grinding irresistably against her sensative center, his hot breath teased her unbearably as he trailed down lap at the exposed skin. When she felt him take her nipple into the hot confines of his mouth and suck with light pressure, she went wild.

Veronica lunged at Willy, his face surprised and they fell backward with a thump as she straddled him once more, attacking his neck with lips and teeth, scraping against the baby soft skin and harsh stubble of his neck in her haste. He let out a strangled gurgle as she latched onto his ear and sucked – the sound inflaming her more. His breath left him in a high-pitched whine as her fingers unbuttoned the vest and shirt to caress the white flesh of his chest and toy with his own nipples - her cool hands against his overheated flesh. She felt his arousal beneath her twitch in anticipation and she ground down hard, her own slick flesh craving his.

Willy looked up at her in amazement, removing his hand to cup her face in a loving gesture. She stared back – he was beautiful like this. His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen from intense kisses, eyes unnaturally bright shuttered by heavy lids, hair falling around him in a dark seawreck of strands. God how she loved this man…

Those sweet lips parted, eyes glittering with passion…

**BBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG!!**

Veronica shot up with a startled scream. Her arms and legs were tangled in something and she fell to the ground with a thump – hitting head first. A strangled yelp and similar thud across the room informed her that Willy had met the same fate. Disoriented, she wondered for a moment how he had managed to jump all the way over there.

Then Veronica realized that she had been dreaming.

She sat up and saw the chair tipped over and Willy's slipper clad feet flailing as he twisted his body to escape the chair that had tipped over when the phone rang. His sleepy eyes told her that he had fallen asleep at his desk.

Willy knelt and scrabbled for the phone while she took a moment to collect herself – _what an intense dream_, she thought longingly. _Why did it have to end_?

"Wonka Industries. Yes, Doris? He is? Put him through please. Oh! Could you bring some coffee in for Ms. Carmichael and Hot Chocolate for me? Thanks!" Willy said. He looked at her and pointed to the phone by his face speaking silently "_Cavenaugh_"

Veronica ditched the blanket and staggered to the wingback seat next to the desk with stiff limbs – how long had she been out? Her body still felt confused between soul-shattering arousal, bone-jarring shock and irritation of being rudely jerked from such a pleasant dream.

Willy waited until she was seated before hitting the speaker, "Good afternoon Detective. How are you doing today?"

"I'm busy as hell Mr. Wonka. Is Ms. Carmichael there as well?" Cavenaugh's growly voice came across with an echo in the background. It sounded like he was shouting down a tin can.

"Yes, Hello Detective Cavenaugh," Veronica croaked, wishing desperately for something to drink to clear her throat.

"Okay kids, here's the update. Jake Manning rolled on Victor Brahm. He's been offered a deal from the public defender for his testimony. He'll be charges with Breaking and Entering – under the circumstances we can't make Assault stick. There's a chance that other victims may step forward once your case goes to court."

"What about the fire?" Veronica asked, fingers twisting against one another making her scars twinge painfully.

"It wasn't deliberately set, so he can't be charged with Arson."

"What's going on with Victor?" Willy asked, eyes intent on Veronica. She shuddered at the expression in them. He was _very_ angry with the man.

"Not admitting to anything. In fact, he's claiming that Ms. Carmichael had been blackmailing him with Jake Manning as the go between." Cavenaugh said.

Veronica froze with horror even as the detective continued.

"Between you and me, that's a line of bullshit and everyone knows it. The idiot attempted to take out a restraining order as soon as he heard the news from some legal office in California. Fortunate for us he forgot about the time change. So the restraining order actually was filed the night after the fire a blowing holes in his claims to have taken it out months ago. What a tool!" His voice was thick with derision.

Veronica calmed enough to relay with shaking voice, "Victor contacted me through my brother's number this morning. I called the number back and got into a very strange conversation. I must say that with your information, that conversation makes a lot more sense."

Cavenaugh's voice sharpened with interest, "Really? What did he say?"

Willy broke in, alarmed by the greenish pallor on Veronica's face, "You can hear it for yourself. We recorded the conversation. Veronica invited me to listen in and I've got to say that although the conversation itself was quite mild, the tone was quite threatening."

"Would you be willing to give us the tape, Mr. Wonka?" Cavenaugh asked.

"If it gets him off Veronica's back – absolutely," Willy nodded – even though he was talking to a phone.

"What was your take on it Ms. Carmichael?"

Veronica thought hard for a moment – exhaustion had clouded most of the details of the conversation, but a few bright points poked out.

"He seemed to be leading up to something. I'm not sure what but there were a lot of strange references to my pay and supposed 'good times' that he apparently remembers more than I." she admitted.

"Hmmm… still it's something we can look into. I'm going to need both of you to come down and file a report today. Mr. Wonka, I understand you use a somewhat unconventional means of transport?"

"Yes?"

"I've been cleared to let you know that the heli-pad upstairs has authorized you to use it for landing – although you'll have to move it out of the way in case the chopper needs to leave or return."

"That is exceptionally courteous of you Detective. I appreciate that."

"You're welcome Mr. Wonka. I look forward to seeing you this afternoon. Good day!" he said, hanging up abruptly.

There was a knock on the office door and the small Oompa Loompa secretary, Doris wheeled in a cart with a coffee and hot chocolate service on it. She bowed and left as soon as it was safely delivered – not a word from her.

"Thank you Doris!" Willy called. He whispered to Veronica, "She's a little shy."

She grinned as she started to pour the thick liquid, the smell of rich dark chocolate filling her nose. The sensuous smell reminding her of her dream. She blushed at the thought and handed the mug over to Willy who raised an eyebrow.

"Something about hot chocolate bother you?" he asked, sipping from the ugly grey mug with a demented happy face on it.

The cup said 'Worlds Best Boss' on it.

_Indeed he is_, she thought with a purr, her mind taking a spectacular nose-dive into the gutter.

Willy waited, mildly concerned at the distant expression on Veronica's face as she stared at him. Her expression turned hungry and predatory with the light of longing in her eyes, and he resisted the impulse to clutch his collar around him like an offended maiden from the intensity.

"Veronica?" he asked, hiding a smirk. Not that he minded being the object of such a look, in fact it was raising a problem of his own behind the desk.

She still stared, then unconsciously licked her lips – making his problem jump with anticipation. Bad timing being what it was, he decided to cut the moment short with some drastic action…

He bit the large marshmallow floating in his mug in half and threw the dry half at her, bouncing it off her nose.

Veronica blinked and coughed, "Sorry. Lost in thought for a moment there. Did you say something?"

Willy grinned, it was nice to know that lustful thoughts were a two way street. "So what were you thinking about?"

She blushed furiously and stuffed several marshmallows in her mouth making her appear like a chipmunk before taking a swig of her coffee, effectively rendering herself unable to answer.

He smirked at her for a moment before returning to business. "It's almost three o'clock now. We could head down to the station to make our statements before heading down to the studio so I can see what you've been working on."

Veronica's eyes bulged as she gagged on the soggy marshmallows in her mouth, "Three o'clock!" she cried…or tried to. It sounded more like, "Rrree ra _choke_"

"Chew! Chew…now swallow…breath. Good!" Willy instructed amused at her reaction. He was glad she had gotten some sleep, even if it was more than the promised hour.

She gasped then scolded, "You were supposed to only let me sleep an hour! I'm never going to get done at this rate. Now a diversion downtown on top of everything else? Gah!"

Ignoring the hands thrown up in exasperation Willy replied soothingly, "Just calm down. It'll take about an hour to get the statements done and turn a copy of the tape over to Cavenaugh. Remember, I don't have to worry about rush hour traffic, we can head out as soon as you're ready."

He slipped off the smoking jacket and reached behind him to grab the spare coat he kept in his office. He took a moment to try and stretch the kinks out of his shoulders and neck – sleeping in a chair was not known for improving posture.

The crimson color set off his dark hair wonderfully even as it washed out his complexion. The contrast made him look even more dramatic. He sat down to take off the slippers and put on the heeled black boots he preferred. He looked up at Veronica, staring blankly at him.

'Hurry! Go grab your coat and bag. I'll wait for you." He said, making little shooing gestures in her direction.

Veronica stood and stretched as well, raising her arms over her head and making a high pitched grunt of satisfaction as she felt several vertebra in her back snap into alignment. "Back in a jiff," she said turning to leave. She quickly reached the Wonkavator and left for her room to grab her things.

Willy was frozen, watching her depart. The stretch had thrown her outline into stark relief – the hem raising to show a stretch of pale silky skin at her stomach, breast with their pointy nipples pressing against the fabric in a mouth-watering way. The noise she made had him throbbing uncomfortably again and the closed-eye look of sheer relief was beautiful on her worn face. He waited until she had closed the door to his office before looking sadly down at his strained lap.

_She's trying to kill us_, Bob moaned.

"But in the most pleasant way possible," Willy said, concentrating on his tried and true remedy to deflate his problem. It was a solution he'd had to use quite frequently lately. The visual of skinny wrinkled Prodnose in flagrante delicto with a fat pasty Slugworth was overkill, but worked like a charm leaving behind only the faint hint of nausea.

"Ew!" he muttered, zipping the boots and standing to fasten the coat. He quickly retrieved the recorder and plugged it into the computer to download the file for his own purposes. He e-mailed a copy to Tupik-Ra for good measure. No sense taking chances. Victor wasn't defeated, but was unknowingly wounded and therefore dangerous.

He'd seen this type of man before. Not content with what meager talents given to him, he collected the talents from others toward his own purposes using his supervisory position to threaten those who would come forward. Victor was especially dangerous due to the twisted length he was going through to avoid blame coming back in his direction.

Willy was familiar with the scenario since he had gone through a version of it himself when he was just starting in the business. Slugworth had hired him as a teen to work in his shop under the guise of teaching him the business. It had taken less than two weeks before Willy quit in disgust at having his work passed off as Slugworth's and being threatened to keep quiet about it. Willy could only imagine the added pressure of being sexually harassed on top of it.

Nose wrinkled in disgust at human leeches everywhere, he gulped the hot chocolate, trying to wash the foul taste out of his mouth at the thought. Willy grabbed his favorite hat and plunked it on his head.

He pressed the intercom button on his phone, "Doris, Ms. Carmichael and I are going to the Metropolitan Police department to make a statement. Could you have Tupik-Ra draft up a restraining order against one Victor Brahm on the behalf of Ms. Carmichael? Oh – and ask him to contact Det. Cavenaugh to follow up with the file I sent him via e-mail. Thanks Doris! You're a peach!"

--

Doris raised one eyebrow in the outer office at her employer's voice. She smiled at being compared to a soft fuzzy fruit that bruised easily – strange outlanders!

--

They returned to the factory a few hours later. Both felt filthy and exasperated with the chaos of the legal system.

The flight over had been uneventful, but descending into the chaotic mess of the front desk to check in had taxed Willy severely.

Clad in his eye-encompassing black goggle sunglasses, he felt trapped. Sitting stiffly next to a serenely drugged man with a tattooed shaved scalp proclaiming him to be a strong supporter of Manchester United, he had to restrain himself from flinching every time someone approached. The man would snort and shift sending a waft of B.O. and vomit scented air toward Willy who, disgusted, in turn would lean further and further toward Veronica seated next to him until he was practically in her lap.

Veronica noted his discomfort and did her level best to be supportive – holding his double-latex clad hand in her cold clammy one. Upon entering the building, Will had shaken his head and applied another set of gloves over his existing ones. Wishing he had yet another set for her, she had been discomforted by the leering faces lining the wall across from them – a row of men who had been picked up for solicitation of prostitution. Many of the men were either blank faced or openly embarrassed to be there – the others were matter-of-fact with their perceived offense and regarded her with the frankly appraising stare of a meat-processor at beef auction.

It was a relief when Cavenaugh appeared and escorted them to one of the small interview rooms. They had given their statements in short order, and Willy turned over the tape to Cavenaugh's custody. Little less than half an hour after they had been called in, they were done.

Cavenaugh was just in the process of escorting Willy and Veronica out when a man in handcuffs with wild eyes broke away from the two escorting officers. He started running down the aisle of desks toward them – screaming incoherently. Cavenaugh swore and dove forward to tackle the man as Willy shoved Veronica out of the way. He pivoted neatly and used his leg to sweep the feet from under the man, causing him to stagger into Cavenaugh who caught him with a roar.

"Hey! You're the candy man! You're the candy man!" the hysterical man was shrieking at ear-splitting volumes. Willy winced and fastidiously plucked a bit of lint off of his black pants, "Indeed I am."

"Gimme one of those tickets, Candy Man! I need one of them golden tickets!"

The restraining officers led him away still screaming and Veronica and the beleaguered Chocolatier raced to the roof and hurried outside. Willy threw open the door and sucked in a deep lung-full of the cold clean air – trying to rinse the smell of rancid humanity out of his nostrils.

"That was disgusting!' Veronica exclaimed wishing again she had a set of gloves like Willy. Everything seemed like it was coated with grease. She longed for the clean sterility of the factory.

"Let's just get out of here before anyone figures out we're here," he said fervently, clicking off the alarm with a cheerful little chirp and practically diving inside to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the station house.

As they lifted off, Veronica embraced him from behind, offering what comfort she could.

"Thank you, Willy. I know that was extraordinarily difficult for you." She whispered into the back of his coat, pressing her cheek to his warmth.

She felt gloved hands holding her own, "You're worth it."

They were soon airborne and they had returned to the factory in silence.

Veronica parted from Willy as soon as the Wonkavator returned to its tracks. "Are you coming down to the studio? I really should be getting back to work."

Willy nodded as they came to a stop. The doors opened and Charlie stood waiting for them.

"How did it go? What's going on?" Charlie asked. Veronica noted that his wrists and ankles stuck out the lengths of his shirt and pants. Poor kid was going through yet another growth spurt.

"They police took our statement. Apparently Veronica's ex-employer is planning to countersue for blackmail. We've got it covered though," Willy said confidently, stepping out and heading down the hall toward the studio.

Veronica shucked her coat in short order, the warmth of the factory seeping in to chase out the lingering chill in her bones. She draped the garment over her arm and trotted to keep up with the Chocolatier and his apprentice.

Willy shot a glance up and down the corridor and leaned back to stage-whisper, "Charlie, are we in the clear?"

Charlie, understanding what he meant shook his dark head and replied, "No. We've also got a problem with the fudge pipe again. It's still leaking all over the Chocolate room like rain. Mum and Dad swear it isn't as bad as it used to be, but it's still making everything inside our house sticky and messy."

Veronica reflected that with the holes in the roof of the ramshackle Bucket home, anything falling from the sky was going to leave a mess inside. She winced in sympathy.

Willy sighed in exasperation, "Okay – so not cleared to talk and we've got a bigger mess to handle." He paused suddenly in the corridor almost making Charlie and Veronica crash into him. Veronica grabbed Charlie to keep from falling and the two wobbled dangerously.

"Okay, new plan." Willy announced, missing the near-tumble. "Veronica, I'm afraid I'm going to have to catch up with you at another time. Charlie – you grab Ori-Vil and meet me in the Chocolate room – I'm heading for the master cut-off. Things just haven't worked right since that Gloop child got stuck in the pipe, no matter how often we replaced the gaskets. I'm afraid the whole thing will have to go this time."

They stopped just outside her studio and Willy turned to Veronica sadly, "Another time, then."

To Charlie's delight and Veronica's embarrassment, Willy collected a quick kiss before running down the hall back to the Wonkavator.

Charlie grinned at the self-conscious woman, "Looks like he likes you."

Veronica blushed even more and Charlie felt delighted to have elicited that kind of reaction. It was about time that Veronica admitted that she liked the Chocolatier back. He grinned cheekily at her.

"Indeed. Charlie – don't you have someone you're supposed to be looking for?" she grumbled, fighting to get her blush under control as she pushed open the studio door.

Charlie's laughter was her only response.


	26. Chapter 26

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. To the reviewer who asked me about Oompa Loompas, I have asked Tupik-Ra to step in and answer them in the upcoming updates. Question 1 is from SrtchPlyr23: Hey, why are you guys so short? Tupik-Ra answers: You try running through a jungle without whacking your head on a branch! Taller Oompa Loompas don't tend to survive long enough to have children. – Stealth Phoenix_

_**Warning: Adult content ahead – not for sensitive readers if matter of adult sexual practices offend you. You have been warned!**_

**Chapter 26**

Time crawled by for Veronica. No matter how fast and hard she worked, it seemed like there was simply too much to do. Music pounded through the small room, setting a relentless beat that her worn body labored to keep up with. Caffeine only took her so far and she was already cruising on the wrong side leading to a full-fledged collapse. Still she labored.

_Tick._

The Oompa Loompas had given up trying to coax her out of the studio. It had fallen to Charlie to gain entrance and force her to slow down enough to grab a bite to eat and suck down more life-giving coffee. If there hadn't been a small functional bathroom in the back, she would have been in real trouble. There was no question that she would rest.

_Tick._

Willy attempted to come by once or twice, but his knocks and yells couldn't be heard over the heavy bass beat that acted as a metronome to her movements. Only Charlie, who had been inventive enough to crash repeatedly into the door with a stainless steel cart, had made enough noise to crack her concentration and gain entrance. Veronica draped the sculpture and cracked open the door only wide enough to allow the slender youth to slip inside.

_Tick_.

Charlie never spoke of what he saw in there, but his dreams were haunted with nightmare figures in glossy green and black for several days. Willy had closely interrogated him when he deemed the Oompa Loompas far enough away to speak in privacy, but Charlie would only shake his head, "I'm not sure what it is. But whatever it is frightens the heck out of me."

_Tick_.

Veronica channeled used the terror and frustration as a source of energy - all of the nightmares, the panic attacks, the constant looking over her shoulder for an imaginary threat. All of these took energy – and she used it as inspiration for the piece before her. The Oompa Loompa had lived with this soul-blackening terror for generations, they would recognize the form before her, and that was what counted.

_Tick_.

Sher-Man-Ra and the other members of the senior council gathered together to discuss the matter. Ver-Oni-Ka seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into darkness and they were worried about both the woman who had come so suddenly into their lives and their beloved employer.

"Cast the bones – let them speak what they may," commanded Mic-Ka cutting through the arguments with a decisive gesture.

Sher-Man-Ra took the sacred bones in their leather pouch, carved with mystic sigils with meanings that had been passed from generation to generation of medicine men, shook three times and cast the bones from the pouch to the cleared area before the fire.

_Tick_.

They crouched around to study the result, although only he could read them.

"It looks like a pony…or it could be a duck," someone suggested, only to have the rest glare at him.

"The bones show the return of the great enemy – although greatly diminished," Sher-Man-Ra said, crouching and furrowing his brow in confusion. "We must devour the enemy to step forward unhindered."

"What does that mean? I though you asked it about Ver-Oni-Ka?" Mi-Ka scowled at Sher-Man-Ra.

"I did."

"So why do they mention the great enemy back in Loompa land?"

"Beats me - although what a bunch of dusty bones knows about interpersonal communication I'll never know."

_Tick_.

There were signs that Veronica was working on other things as well. It was a few days before Christmas when the Buckets woke one morning to find a package delivered to their doorstep. Willy admitted his ignorance as to the source and the Oompa Loompas shrugged and shook their heads in confusion. The taller people gathered around the kitchen table and workers crowded at every window and stuffed themselves into doorways to see what was inside.

Mrs. Bucket gently untied the ribbon of the package and the sides fell open to reveal a beautiful Christmas poinsettia inside. The leaves faded from dark red at the tips to a deep pink at the heart, delicate spider veins laced the surface in light green. There were a few withered leaves at the bottom and the rich soil was contained in a glazed ceramic pot in deep blue.

A rather innocuous Christmas gift if not for its mysterious arrival inside the factory.

It wasn't until Mrs. Bucket collected the card that they realized that it was made of candy. "Happy Christmas – Veronica Carmichael" she read. Willy took a pinch of soil from the pot and subjected it to intense scrutiny. Everyone was astonished when he popped it into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

"Eating dirt?" Grandpa George scoffed.

"Nope – It's Oreos crumbled up. Nice touch, very realistic." Willy admitted.

Charlie bravely took one of the withered leaves from the bottom and pulled it off with a faint snap. He sniffed at it carefully and his eyes widened in amazement, "It's peppermint." He bit off a piece of leaf and chewed. "It tastes a bit like marshmallows or meringue."

"So the whole thing is eatable?" asked Mr. Bucket, regarding the plant with suspicion.

"Looks like it. It'll make a lovely centerpiece." Mrs. Bucket smiled and placed it in the middle of the kitchen table where it remained throughout the holiday season – although by New Years it would look a little ragged from being snacked on.

_Tick_.

There was a loud pounding on the door and Veronica jerked up in alarm. She'd been dozing over a piece of intricate filigree work and had nearly broken the piece when she'd jumped. Carefully setting the piece down, she went to the door. It was only because the music had cycled through and stopped that he had heard it at all.

"Yes?" she called, grabbing the drape to cover the nearly completed project.

"It's me. May I come in?" Willy's plaintive voice called through the door.

"Just a moment," she said, rushing to the small basin to give her appearance a once over before opening the door. Ugh! That was a wasted effort – she looked like a corpse. She scrubbed her teeth with her finger and rinsed her mouth out the best she could with water before popping a peppermint in her mouth. It had to be good enough.

_Tick_.

Willy wore purple today. Dark coat and pants with a lighter violet vest that matched his eyes and a pale lavender shirt that would have looked effeminate on any other man, but worked for him. It brought out the rich tones of his hair and warmed his pale skin. Realizing that she was staring, she invited him inside.

Willy looked around; the studio was fanatically neat considering the hours spent there. The sculpture was draped with a bedsheet preventing curious eyes from seeing what lay underneath. The pounding music that had frustrated previous visits was turned off and many of the lights had been shut off, leaving only her work area in a circle of light.

Veronica looked terrible. Her face was drawn with sunken cheeks and deep circles under her eyes made it look like she's been the loser in a bar fight. The normally bright hair was dull and looked oily and tendrils escaped and lay limply against her face and neck. She looked like she had lost even more weight, her clothes draping off a near skeletal frame.

"When was the last time you slept? Ate a meal?" he asked in shock.

"Um…what day is it again?" she asked, moving to take a seat on the stool and slouched weakly at the countertop.

"Monday? Dec 22nd? Evening?"

"Oh…then I'm not really sure. I've been busy." She said softly, exhaustion weakening her voice.

_Tick._

"Veronica!" Willy said sharply. He was drawing the line – this was the last straw. "I don't care if this project gets finished on time, I don't care about what you think you have to do to 'prove' yourself to me. I won't let you kill yourself!" he shouted, angry and scared.

She didn't react beyond leaning one elbow on the counter and using it to support her head, "Yes. I know."

"I'll shut down this room if that's what it takes to get you out of here and to take care of yourself," Willy threatened, stalking over and grabbing her slender shoulders.

She stared up at him with weary green-gold eyes. "Have you ever been in love?" she asked quietly.

Willy was taken aback, "Why are you asking me this now?"

"Have you ever been in love before?" she asked again with quiet resolution.

"I….I… I don't think so," Willy stuttered. _Not until lately anyway…_

Veronica gestured to the next stool and he slowly sat, sensing that whatever she was asking about was important.

"I thought I was once…back in college. I was in my third year at university, studying away to get my degree in culinary arts. My parents didn't really think much of my choice of career, but I was stubborn." Veronica smiled softly, and for a moment, Willy could see an echo of that fresh-faced young girl.

"I never really dated or anything so I was terribly sheltered and naive. Reggie was starting to show signs that he was gay and I kept quiet and covered for him. I was more preoccupied with worry about him than I was about dating."

"That was when I met Marcus. Marcus was a boy from my chemistry class. We hit things off and started going out. He was my first…" she trailed off, an expression of profound pain flashing briefly across her features.

"Mum and Dad seemed to like him, but Reggie tried warning me off. You see, he'd heard things about Marcus and what had happened to other girls he had dated."

Willy started to get a sick feeling in his stomach at her words. He'd known that she had a bad past, but something told him he was about to find out how bad.

"Marcus was kind, but he kept pressuring me to try things I had no interest in and wasn't ready for – I'm not one for great sexual exploration and wanted no part of it. I eventually decided that it was time to break things off," she smiled sadly "I was a fool."

"It was Easter break. Reggie was sneaking off to meet one of his boyfriends and I told Mum and Dad that I was spending the break with a group of girlfriends at their home in the country. I snuck out to meet Marcus and to tell him we were through."

"Marcus seemed to understand at first, and invited me to have a drink at the pub with him before leaving," Veronica's eyes turned distant and the emotion in her voice suddenly disappeared – changing into a flat recitation. Willy felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up in alarm.

"He drugged my drink. I passed out as I was trying to leave – to go home. When I awoke, I was in his parent's basement in the coal cellar, tied hand and foot and gagged to boot. I heard his parents leave, saying that they would be gone for the weekend. Then I was left alone with Marcus."

"He was furious and I was going to pay. He stripped me naked, and…" Veronica's nerve started to fail and her gaze dropped to her hands, clenched in her lap. _No – I've got to finish this!_

"Over the course of the next two days I was repeatedly raped, sodomized, beaten and starved. Marcus was so full of rage that I knew that there was no way I was going to survive it. Yet, for some reason I still kept living." She whispered staring at her hands. She didn't want to look up to see the horror and disgust on Willy's face. "I guess I'm just too stubborn to die."

"Things came to a point when he started heating the old iron poker from the fireplace in the furnace. He kept saying that no one would look for me after he got done," she said, clenching her hands and steeling herself not to look at the man next to her.

Willy stared, tears streaming down his cheeks, sobs silently rocking his body a look of horror on his face. _How had she managed to survive all that_?

"I was tied to the table, stretched out like a side of beef ready for the butcher. Marcus started over with the poker heated to red-hot, ready to brand me," Veronica said softly. "At that point I really had nothing left to lose and knew that if I let him touch me again, I was going to die."

"Since I'd been struggling for the past two days, my wrists were rubbed raw, I guess that the blood lubricated my hands enough that I was able to slip one free and grab the poker before he could touch me with it."

Veronica stared at the heavily scarred palms of her hands, "I fought for my life, and Marcus grew even more furious with me for fighting - for not just laying there and dying like I was supposed to."

"I've never felt pain like that before and haven't since. – I could actually smell my flesh cooking. I clung to that poker with every last ounce of strength. It was only after he threw it away that I was able to let go."

"He went mad then, punching, kicking, biting…it was as if he was trying to kill me with his bare hands. I lost consciousness."

"Reggie tells me that the police found me in the park near my home. Marcus had left me for dead – after all that I was more dead than alive. I was taken to the hospital and treated. But things would never be the same again." Veronica finally looked up at Willy.

"My parents were there for me in the hospital, but as soon as I was home and bruises faded, Mum and Dad sent me to various psychiatrists. At first I thought they were trying to help, but all they really wanted me to do was forget what had happened and move on."

"They were actually ashamed of me for working with the police to throw Marcus in jail."

She shook her head, "I used to think that it was Reggie coming out of the closet that caused me to break ties with my parents. Thanks to Sherman, I now realize that it was this time, when I needed their help so badly – their support – that they abandoned me first."

Veronica curled in on herself and despite her iron self control, a few tears started to leak. Her voice trembled as she continued, "I found out later that the damage Marcus inflicted on me ruined any chances for me to ever have children – so on top of losing my innocence, I also lost the chance of ever becoming a mother. It was a few days after finding this out that I testified against him in court. It was that anger and what he had done to me - this fury - that helped me tell a room of complete strangers what had happened. Thanks to my testimony and the evidence left behind that Marcus was convicted and sent to jail."

Her voice throbbed with suppressed emotion, she stared at the wall and Willy watched her profile, "I had intense nightmares for years in addition to frequent panic attacks in stressful situations. Things only started to get better when I found out that Marcus was killed in prison nearly three years later."

Willy could see her shaking with the effort of holding herself upright and he stood to gather her into his arms. She held herself rigid, refusing in even the depths of her exhaustion to show weakness. She hugged him for a moment before gently pushing him away, tears gathering in her eyes.

"So now you know. This is why I push myself so hard. I know you promised that you would be patient with me, but then again, you also had no idea how badly damaged I really am." She started to stand, but drooped against the counter, the last of her energy gone. "I'm giving you a graceful way out, Willy. You deserve a woman who is stronger and braver than I, who can give you a family of your own. There's no need to take care of me. Just let me complete this project, collect my pay and I'll be out of your hair forever."

Willy couldn't listen to this self-flagellation any more. He lunged forward to grab her, just as she started to slip to the floor, face and lips a ghastly grey. "Veronica!" he yelped, alarmed.

"Just give me a moment," she murmured, closing her aching eyes.

"I'll give you more than that," he said sarcastically. He seated himself cross-legged on the floor and drew her into his lap, one shoulder supporting her lolling head. "I refuse to let you go anywhere! You can't go thinking that I'll toss you aside like some candy wrapper – you mean too much to me."

"I don't know where you get off with this idea that you're damaged goods. It seems to me that you're more like tempered steel."

Willy felt so good, so warm and alive.

"What're you talking about?" Veronica whispered.

"Steel gets stronger through a tempering process. Massive heat and pressure cause the steel to bond tighter, stronger than the raw form," he said quietly, holding her close and rocking.

Veronica felt the tears begin to leak from her eyes, feeling the panic starting to rise,"Willy. You'd better let me go."

"Why?"

"It hurts"

Willy released her gently and looked down at her, his violet eyes bright with worry, "Where does it hurt? Do you need a Doctor?"

Veronica could feel herself shaking, breath coming in quick pants, eyes wide and glassy with fear.

"My heart. It hurts my heart – and it'll hurt more the longer you hold me," she started to sob. "It'll hurt the worst when you let me go."

The horrible pressure in her chest was leaking out as she cried. Her body shook with the effort of trying to hold herself back when all she wanted to do was hold him closer.

Willy made nonsensical noises and held her close as she cried, rocking her like a child. All the emotional pain, all of the stress of losing her home and opening such horrible memories was too much – the dam broke and she was lost in the panic attack.

Through it all, he stayed close, stroking her hair and holding her close, tears streaming down his face as well.

When the attack subsided, she was numb, both physically and emotionally. There was nothing left to feel or say. Willy kissed the top of her head and winced as he realized that his legs had gone numb from sitting on them too long.

She shifted to one side to allow Willy to uncurl his legs, grimacing as circulation returned. They helped each other stand and she wobbled on uncertain legs. He steadied her with one arm around her waist.

"Thank you," she whispered, lost once more. Now came the part she had been dreading, the part where he made his excuses and left while she struggled to put her heart back together. Willy felt her withdrawing and his heart broke – she really thought he was going to toss her aside.

"Veronica look at me," he commanded softly.

Veronica gazed up at him, already bidding him farewell in her heart. There was a snapping sound - then another – then Willy's warm bare hands cupped her face to stare down at her. His bare skin felt smooth and wonderful against her cold face. His lips descended next, to brush against hers with infinite delicate care.

"Veronica….I…I love you. Nothing you have said this evening will ever change that. You are the strongest woman I've ever known and the fact that you've survived that experience to make it here today is nothing less than miraculous," he was shaking with the intensity of his feelings.

_That's the way_, Bob murmured. _Now let it sink in and convince her that she's safe with you._

She shuddered at the impact of his words – he accepted her. She had revealed the putrid filth of her soul and he still wanted her. Her lips stretched in a tremulous smile, "So, are you sure you want to get involved with a mess like me?"

"More than ever. You're not shaking me that easily, missy!" he said softly. "But not right now. You're stopping the project for tonight and getting a bath, rest and food."

"I think you might be right," she admitted. "But did you at least want to see what I've been doing for the last two and a half weeks?"

Curiosity and concern warred across his features.

She chuckled and staggered across to the counter and grasped a corner of the drop sheet, "Mr. Wonka, I present to you my creation for you to present to your Oompa Loompas during the Exodus Ceremony."

The cloth dropped.

So did Willy's jaw.

He felt a cold chill of superstitious fear run down his spine and shuddered. The sharp angles, the cruel curves and the ominous gleam of black chitnous armor touched a primitive fear in the back of his mind and he found himself backing away from Veronica's creation.

It lurked in the darkened room; shadows making it appear to be breathing. It hunted; waiting for its prey with inhuman patience – like death it was inevitable.

It was horrifying, monstrous and…

"It's perfect," he said, eyes agleam with anticipation. He understood the purpose of this sculpture and the meaning went beyond just the Exodus Ceremony.

"I understand now," Willy said, crossing the room to lift the weakened woman from her feet. All the frustrated energy of creation, all of her drive and energy had gone into this monster and he found it beautiful…

…much like her.

"There's still some minor detail work that needs to be completed," she protested as he carried her to the door, using an elbow to flip off the light. Relief so intense flowed through her and Veronica's vision started to grey out at the edges, she felt hot and cold at the same time.

"Work that you can finish tomorrow night after you get back from Reggie's," he said. "It doesn't need much…if anything else. It's exactly what we needed."

She sagged in his arms in defeat, "Oh, good."

Then she passed out.


	27. Chapter 27

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Continuing with our series of questions from interested readers, CatLvr445 asks: Was it hard transitioning between LoompaLand and Mr. Wonka's factory? Tupik-Ra replies: When initially confronted with technology – we simply accepted it as magic and thus controllable. The real problem was dealing with junk food – especially Cheetos. Those things are massively addicting! Thanks to a rigorous work ethic and good dietician we're not packing on the pounds anymore. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 27**

Willy panicked when Veronica went limp in his arms. "Veronica! Hey! Wake-up!" he shouted, jostling her gently hoping she would just awaken. Her head lolled back and he could see the whites of her eyes.

Using one foot to jerk open the door, he rushed into the hallway, looking for one of his workers that lurked nearby. They had been keeping watch on the studio by Mic-Ka's directive.

Exasperated, he juggled the unconscious woman who seemed to have gained a miraculous 20 lbs and glanced around corners.

Naturally, when he wanted to be alone, the little boogers were everywhere - when he actually needed someone they were nowhere to be found.

He turned around and started striding toward the Wonkavator. There was a yelp and Willy suddenly impacted with a small weight at knee height. Staggering, he nearly dropped Veronica and yelped with alarm. "Hey! Oh – sorry. You alright?"

Nei-Vil sat up and rubbed his head. He'd bounced off Won-Ka's knee and his ears rang from the impact. "Nothing a couple of cocoa beans couldn't fix. What is the matter with Ver-Oni-Ka?"

"She collapsed. I'll take her down to her room, but I need you to go grab Sherman and Devon for me, 'kay? I'll meet them down there. Oh! Also grab Moni-Ka and Ray-Nel to assist – go!" Willy ordered.

He settled Veronica a little more carefully, resting her head on his shoulder and took off. His arms were screaming with red hot heat by the time he reached the Wonkavator and managed to press the button that took them back to her room.

Slumping down to the floor to cradle her in his lap while the Wonkavator was in motion, he carefully checked her pulse and breathing. She felt warm under his bare hand but her pulse was strong and steady, breaths of soft air puffed from her nose in a steady interval. Panic calmed, he bludgeoned his whirling mind to consider what made her pass out.

_She's been working non-stop for almost a week – why the hell else do you think she went down?_ Bob growled.

She seemed pretty stressed before she told me about what had happened to her, I was thinking it might have something to do with that.

_More likely a combination of the both – at least it didn't happen until after you told her you love her._

You don't think that's why she passed out do you?

_I don't know - who can read any woman's mind? I'm just a figment of your imagnation, complained Bob._

Contemplating further, he absent-mindedly pulled another set of gloves from his pocket to slip over his hands.

The Wonkavator seemed to understand its master's urgency for it seemed to take far less time than usual to arrive at her room. It slowed to a stop and Willy could see the gathering crowd of Oompa Loompas and Charlie outside the glass doors.

The doors slid open and Devon – the Oompa Loompa physician and healer darted in to check Veronica as she draped over Willy's lap.

"What happened? Is she alright?" Charlie asked, his voice wavering between boyish soprano and manly tenor in his distress.

"Ver-Oni-Ka seems to be stable. I will examine her further once we get her into bed," Devon decided, he motioned and the team of workers smoothly transitioned her from Willy's arms to the bed with nary a jostle or hiccup. It was amazing how the small people cooperated to lift the much taller woman without dropping her or crushing anyone in the process.

"She's been working too hard, Charlie. But I think things will be alright now." Willy said, accepting Charlie's hand to help haul him to his feet.

Inside the room, Devon was just completing his initial examination with a stethoscope and used a pen light to check her pupil response. Frowning slightly, he put the tools away in a small classic black bag and took out a handful of green pointed leaves. He waved the bunch of leaves over her chest humming under his breath with a look of intense concentration on his face before dropping them to study the pattern of where they landed.

"What's up Doc?" Willy asked, straightening his cuffs and watching anxiously.

"Great pressure lifted, extreme relief followed…," Devon said slowly. "Looks like a classic case of exhaustion tempered by some sort of catharsis." The small man, dressed in the classic white coat cut down to his diminutive size looked toward the psychiatrist. "Sher-Man-Ra?"

Sherman nodded and shot a knowing look at Willy, "She told you then?"

Willy simply nodded, not wishing to say more in front of the crowd.

Sherman shook his head and replied to the Doctor, "She was already in a weakened condition and additional emotional stress was too much."

Devon nodded his agreement and turned to the taller man,"She's sleeping deeply right now and probably will through tonight and into tomorrow. I'll set her up with an IV to get some nutrients into her system to try and cushion the shock."

"Nothing permanent then? Good. Monica, Ray-Nel? Please stay with her tonight in case she wakes. Nei-Vil? Shut off access to her studio – I don't want to let her back in there unless Charlie or myself is available to go with her. She'll be mad, but ultimately, I think she'll understand," he was surprised at the cheers and smiles that broke out on the Oompa Loompas faces. He'd never known how popular she was with his workers – or how worried they also were about her.

"Devon, do whatever you think necessary to ensure she gets the rest she needs, I also think giving her about 10cc's of Wonka-Vite in the IV solution might help as well," Willy's words came fast and the small people crossed their arms and bowed quickly before leaping into action.

He turned to Charlie with a forced smile, "There's nothing we can really do for her right now other than making sure she rests. Why don't you go home? Tell your mother I won't be able to join you this evening for dinner and I'll talk to you tomorrow, 'kay?"

Charlie could tell that he'd taken a bad shock and was still worried, but allowed himself to be shooed away without fuss. He'd let his family know about what was going on and find a way to cheer Willy up in the process.

"Ms. Carmichael will be fine, Willy. You'll see," he said, startling the man with a quick hug before bolting off.

Jittery because of the unaccustomed contact, collapsing women and deep emotional upheaval, he turned to Sherman with some degree of desperation, "Sherman, do you have a few minutes for me?"

Sherman nodded, and Willy followed the shaman out of Veronica's room, allowing his workers to care for her until she recovered.

They walked slowly down the halls, taking the long way to allow Willy the chance to regain his composure. As they entered Sherman's office, the Oompa Loompa prepared the special tea for his taller friend without being asked. Willy shed the purple coat and hat, and slipped on his black dressing gown before reclining back on the couch and throwing one arm over his eyes.

Sherman pressed the mug into his empty hand and Willy took a sip without looking. He rolled the rich flavor on his tongue for a moment before swallowing, feeling the heat flow all the way down to splash into his stomach.

"Is this the McClellan's?" Willy asked hoarsely? There was more than just tea in that cup…

"Yes. I figured that you needed the alcohol after the revelations you'd just had." Sherman said, unapologetic. He poured a thimble-full of the powerful scotch for himself and took his traditional seat in the wingback chair next to the chaise lounge where Willy sprawled.

"When did she tell you?" Willy asked.

"About a week and a half ago – before you headed down to the police station. It was something she'd been working on for a while. I know she wished to tell you sooner," Sherman admitted.

The men sipped their drinks for a moment, sharing a companionable silence.

"How has she been managing to live with such a burden on her mind?" Willy finally asked, the anguish apparent in his voice.

Bob was growling in the back of his skull – _no one harmed his mate_!

"It's not a matter of managing to live – it's a matter of surviving. Surviving is always better than the alternative. She chose to survive that encounter and makes the same decision every day. It something she's made her peace with even as she struggles with the effects." Sherman corrected, taking a moment to share his own frustrations. "I believe what Ver-Oni-Ka's problem is, is that she's been surviving too long and not bothering to move beyond that to actual living. She cut off a large part of herself to allow her the peace of mind to function on a day to day basis..."

Sherman stopped, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry Won-Ka, I have already said too much. This is something that should remain in patient/doctor confidentiality so I cannot discuss much more."

Willy made a noncommittal noise and swallowed a mouth full of the laced tea, feeling the alcohol burn pleasantly on his gums.

"I'm not sure how to feel. I mean I'm angry with the man who put her through so much," Willy admitted, glowering darkly. "It's a good thing he's already dead or he soon would be by my hands." Willy had the vivid mental image of wrapping his hands around Marcus's throat - he imagined Marcus to be a sniveling weedy little man – the kind of man to pick the wings off flies as a kid to show his superiority. He could see the man's eyes bulging as Willy squeezed the life out of him, furious for hurting the woman he loved – even if it did happen long before they met.

_Kill_! Bob snarled

Coming back to himself, he continued.

"But, I also feel sympathy for her as well. I want to hold her and protect her from the world and its troubles," Willy said, moving his arm up to rest across his forehead to stare at the ceiling, mug resting comfortably on his chest. He remembered the warmth shared between the two of them as he rocked Veronica, shaken after her panic attack. _How he had wished there was something more he could do_.

"I told her how I feel about her, but I'm not really sure how she feels about me. It seemed like she was expecting me to toss her out or something," Willy said miserably.

Sherman nodded, "What did she say when you told her how you felt?"

"Veronica wasn't able to say much of anything. She had a panic attack and didn't get the chance," Willy said, changing the order of events slightly to protect their secret. She'd given up so much to make it happen, the last thing he wanted to do was ruin it now when they were so close...

"Did she try to push you away?"

"No, she curled up on my lap, shaking and crying uncontrollably. She grabbed onto the lapels of my jacket and wouldn't let go."

Willy's face dawned with sudden comprehension. "She wanted _me_. Veronica said before the she didn't want the Chocolatier, or one of the wealthiest men in the world – she wanted _**me**_, as I am."

Sherman nodded, hiding his rising excitement behind a blank façade, "When you confessed your feelings, what exactly did you tell her?"

Willy blushed and swallowed the rest of his tea. Saying it once was hard enough – why did it matter what everyone else thought? "Could I get a refill? That was really good…"

"Won-ka?" Sherman asked sternly, knowing that he was trying to evade the question.

Willy recovered his eyes with his arm and fought down the blush that threatened his cheeks. "What's the big deal. It's private stuff."

"But also important to the conversation. Are you ashamed of expressing yourself?"

"No – but its something special between us – sacred - and I don't feel comfortable sharing it with anyone else."

"I have a feeling I know what you said, but you just need to admit it to yourself." Sherman pressed. "Come Won-Ka, three little words need not alarm you. Especially after the bravery Ver-Oni-Ka has shown this evening sharing her darkest secret with you. Honor her with the same bravery."

Willy sighed exasperated; he slammed down his arm and glared at the smaller man, "Fine. I told Veronica that I love her. Happy? Satisfied?"

_But does she love me back?_ Willy thought miserably_._

Sherman took a sip of his drink, shaking his head, "It was not for my sake that you said those words, it was your own. The hornswaggler is out of the trap – no putting it back inside."

Willy sighed again, looking at the empty cup, "I guess. Is this what love is? This constant worry? That hollow feeling when she's out of your eyesight, wondering what's on her mind? Wondering if she's going to leave forever and leaving you to face the darkness without her light?"

Sherman carefully hid his grin. Won-Ka had it bad.

"To a degree. There is also great joy of being with her in the long happy days ahead. There is the wonderful feeling waking next to your woman in the morning and the first thing you see is her smile. There is the joy of sharing moments with each other – moments that can never be recaptured, only cherished in memory for the rest of your life," Sherman said, thinking fondly of his own wife.

Willy was silent as he digested these matters. Sherman was patient – Won-ka had been a client and friend for many years and his mind would quickly come to the right conclusions. It was just important to do so before the Exodus Ceremony where a clear mind and heart was critical to the ceremonies performed on that day.

"What can I do to help her?" he asked finally.

Sherman grinned proudly – Wonka was more like a son to him than he would ever admit, even to Mic-Ka.

"Just as before. Let her set the pace – it is her comfort level that needs to expand. She trusts you – clinging to you in her most dire emotional distress is a clear enough sign of this. Build on that trust and have faith that she will tell you of her own heart in short order."

Sherman finished the scotch and got up to cross over to the taller man. He placed a small hand over the one draped over Willy's chest, "Keep loving her and stay true to telling her as frequently as you can. It is the best advice I can give you."

He patted the taller man's hand and left to leave Willy to his thoughts.

--

Veronica opened her eyes slowly. Her body was screaming at her for more sleep, but there was something important she had to do first. Seeing the ivory on cream swirl ceiling of her room, she realized that she must have passed out on Willy.

Rolling her head to one side, she saw the small concerned faces of Monica and Raynel looking back at her. "How long was I out?" she asked, her throat terribly dry.

Monica handed her a glass of water. Veronica started roll over onto her side to take it and was stopped by a sharp sting on the back of her hand. She followed the sensation and saw an IV dripping clear liquid into her vein. She carefully pulled herself into a reclined position and took the glass with her free hand, sipping slowly.

"Why do I have an IV?" Veronica asked slowly, her thoughts muddled.

"You passed out in your studio. Won-Ka brought you back here. Our healer Dev-On said that this would help you recover lost nutrients," Monica said calmly.

Veronica started to pick absent-mindedly at the tape affixing the IV to her hand and Monica slapped at her hand, "Stop that!"

Raynel was younger than her counterpart and giggled at the affronted expression on the taller woman's face.

"You need to get more sleep," Monica said in a maternal tone of voice and pushed Veronica gently down.

"I will. Would it be possible for me to get cleaned up first?" she asked plaintively. "I would rest easier if I took a quick shower."

Monica and Raynel exchanged a look. "Please?" Veronica asked, attempting to use Puppy Eyes™ for the first time in more than two decades.

Apparently she still had it because Monica relented, "Okay – but it'll be a bath and we'll do all the work. I just want you to lay there and do nothing."

Veronica nodded. Now that she was aware of what her body was doing, she cringed at her own scent. Anything to get clean at this point!

While Ray-Nel bustled off to run the bathwater, Veronica looked to Monica quietly and asked, "How's Willy?"

"You scared him, child. He's frantically worried about you," the older woman scolded, helping Veronica take off her clothes around the long tube of the IV still attached to her hand.

"I'm sorry – I really don't mean to be a bother. I worry about him too," she confessed, allowing herself to passively be undressed.

Monica clucked her tongue at the unhealthy loss of weight apparent in the protruding knobs of her spine and ribs. "Why do you insist on trying to take up less space in the world than you deserve? No one is going to begrudge you simple human needs."

Veronica had nothing to say to this. When Ray-Nel came out and indicated that the bath was ready, she took slow steady steps into the bathroom and climbed carefully into the tub. She felt cold and shaky. The IV fluid seemed to be dripping liquid ice into her veins and Monica carried the bag to hang on the rolling pole next to the tub. Veronica briefly excused herself to use the toilet and then slipped gratefully into the warm water.

The two women went to work, shampooing her hair with strong fingers – almost making her groan with appreciation. The rough texture of the scrub brush felt wonderful on her limbs and back. She felt a moment's embarrassment when they scrubbed her toast rack chest and wobbling breasts, but the matter-of-fact way they went about their business soothed her.

_The urgency that had awoken her had faded into a nagging feeling that she was forgetting something massively important. Willy's face floated before her eyes, beautiful eyes earnest, pleading…_

Ray-Nel had run the water hot, and the initial sting had faded. The warmth sunk into her bones and turned her muscles into putty. Her arms and legs still trembled with exhaustion and she fought to keep her eyes open long enough to finish her bath.

Monica clucked again as she saw Veronica's eyes sagging, "Clean enough for now. Stand up – easy now."

Veronica swayed on her feet and grabbed the hand rail for balance. The dizziness faded and she carefully stepped from the tub. With amazing cooperative movements, Ray-Nel climbed onto Monica's shoulders to wrap a warmed towel around her body. Indicating that she should return to the bedroom, Veronica complied – eyes drooping even as she walked.

_Willy was saying something…something that made her heart soar with joy even as her body was too weak to show it…what had he said?_

She sat on the bed and the Oompa Loompas towel dried her hair and started working through it with a wide-toothed comb. Was her hair longer than normal? Veronica wondered sleepily.

She yawned as Monica's clever fingers wove the wild mass into a simple plait and tied it off with one of her rubber bands.

"Lie down," Monica commanded. She was helpless to disagree.

"_Veronica….I…I love you. Nothing you have said this evening will ever change that…," Willy's voice drifted through her memory through the pain and loss, a precious beacon,"_

Veronica realized what she had forgotten.

"I need to tell Willy something important," Veronica insisted, even as her treacherous eyes drifted shut."

"You can tell him yourself after you get some sleep. Nothing is that important," Monica said soothingly, pulling the covers up over the exhausted woman.

"No – it is…" she whispered. "I need to tell Willy…"

…I love him."

She fell asleep.


	28. Chapter 28

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Our next question for Tupik-Ra comes from Yva: What ever happened to the other winners of the Golden Ticket contest? Tupik-Ra replies: Augustus Gloop went on to live a better lifestyle due to an onset of juvenile diabetes – he lost nearly 85 lbs and is now a mentor for other children with diabetes as a motivational speaker. Violet __Beureguarde__ has capitalized on her new abilities and now is the star attraction for the Cirque Du Soleil performance of "Deep Blue" at the Bellagio in Las Vegas; Veruca Salt entered therapy, filed for emancipation from her parents and lives quietly in London by her own support. Mike Teevee? We're not really sure – his parents have attempted to sue, but we lost track of his movement several months ago. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 28**

The first thing she felt as Veronica awoke was the cozy warmth of her little cave under the covers. The IV had been removed from her hand and the sticky residue from the tape holding it in place had collected a thin film of grungy looking lint. The wound itself was scabbed over nicely without the usual resulting bruise.

She hesitantly pulled the covers down and the low light of her room momentarily shocked her eyes. Squinting, she could see the dim figure of Monica moving toward her. "Ah, you're awake. Ray-Nel, go ahead and get Won-Ka."

Ray-Nel quickly left the room and Veronica's eyes finally adjusted.

"How long was I out for this time? What time is it?" she asked, her voice froggy from lack of use.

Ew! Her tongue felt fuzzy and the taste was horrible – and she had to pee like nobody's business.

"It's about 11 a.m. on December 23rd – you managed to sleep about 17 hours in all," Monica replied.

Veronica pushed back the covers and staggered into the bathroom to relieve her aching bladder. Urge met, she stepped up to the sink to brush her teeth. Staring into the reflection, she froze in her reach for the toothbrush.

"Monica?" she yelled with a note of rising alarm, "Why does my hair look like a reject from Lord of the Rings?"

Her reddish-brown mop that had rested just at shoulder length when down last night had grown until it hung heavily past her hips - the end in a strange half-braid that was apparently where she had left it last night.

"Yes…about that…,"Monica hemmed and hawed.

Veronica took in the rest of her appearance. The ghastly grey pallor from last night was gone along with the deep bruised circles under her eyes. There was a flush of health across her cheeks that was previously lacking and she looked like she had just gotten back from a particularly good two week vacation. She looked down. There was still the slightly protruding ribs and collarbone, but there wasn't the edge of starvation-level thinness anymore.

Suspicions raised, she looked down and nearly shrieked – even the hair on her legs had grown to Neanderthal lengths. She quickly turned on the bath and grabbed her razor. This simply would not do.

Regarding the dainty razor with a raised eyebrow – wouldn't she need a chainsaw? - she started the clear-cutting of a forest of leg hair. The little razor seemed equal to the task and she finished shaving her legs, bikini area and underarms with minimal nicks. The cuts themselves seemed to heal up in a blink. She watched one such gash heal on her ankle after a good nick. _What the hell?_

Veronica brushed her teeth with a distracted air, _what had happened to her last night to cause such a reaction?_ Not that she was complaining, but near-miraculous instantaneous recoveries don't just occur in every day life.

Finished, she pulled on the terrycloth robe hanging on the back of the door and returned to the bedroom to dress.

There was a knock on the door and Monica answered. Voices spoke, the sound too softly to be heard clearly and Willy stepped into the room. The small woman crossed her arm, bowed to the taller man and after shooting a mischievous grin Veronica's way, exited the room.

Willy Wonka, Chocolatier extraordinaire, seemed nervous. He was wearing a somber looking black jacket with a festive red shirt and red gloves on his hands this time. The top hat was tilted low, concealing his eyes. "Good morning. How do you feel?" he asked, his voice slightly higher pitched than normal.

"Much better thank you. What's going on?" Veronica asked, her voice held an edge of panic in it. Her thin hands twisted the belt of the robe tightly – eyes begging him for an explanation.

"Your IV had a little something extra in it to help you recover quicker. It's completely harmless – in fact it classifies as 'helpful'," He said, one hand balancing on his cane – body held unnaturally still, not wanting to spook her further.

"What did you give me?" she asked, she grabbed a hank of the long tresses down her back, "A little something extra shouldn't cause my hair to grow nearly three feet overnight."

"It's something I created. I call it Wonka-Vite," he explained, tilting the hat back sheepishly to meet her eyes. She calmed immediately – she knew that Willy would do nothing to harm her. For a moment there, she feared the worst – black ops, alien injections, super-soldier programs…geek horrors. Anything Willy came up with to help her she knew was benign.

Seeing that she wasn't going to freak out, Will suddenly grinned and broke out into a jingle.

"_If you are tired and have the shakes, If all your bones are full of aches, If you can hardly walk at all,  
If living drives you up the wall, If you're a grump and full of spite, If you're a human parasite,  
then what you need is WONKAVITE!_"

A finger on the top of his cane started tapping, quickly followed by his feet.

His violet eyes started to glint and before she knew it, he was dancing around her singing, "_Your eyes will shine, your hair will grow, your face and skin will start to glow, and your puckered lips will get so soft and rosy pink - that all the boys will smile and wink_."

On that line he smirked and winked flirtatiously, making her laugh. He paused to take her hands and whisper surreptitiously, "_And whisper secretly that this - is just the girl they want to kiss_!"

Willy ever so gently placed a kiss on her lips, his tickling breath making her giggle, before twirling around and jumping onto the chair next to her bed, his top hat in one hand the cane extended like a conductor's baton in the other.

"_So come, old friends, and do what's right! Let's make your lives as bright as bright! Let's take a dose of this delight! This heavenly magic dynamite! You can't go wrong, you must go right! IT'S WILLY WONKA'S WONKAVITE_!"

Veronica applauded, laughing at the performance. Willy took a bow and stepped off the chair, "Thank you , Thank you! I'll be here all week. Please be sure to tip your waitress generously."

"So this Wonkavite has helped me heal up from all the damage I've managed to do to myself?" She asked, taking a seat on the bed to stare up at the man.

"Indeed fair maiden. Now promise me you won't turn around and undo it all again, please." Willy took her hand and sat next to her. "You scared me. Please don't do that again."

Her heart leapt painfully in her chest at the deep emotion contained in his eyes. Veronica recalled his words the previous night and she wondered anew at this wonderful man. How could someone like this claim to love someone as worthless as her. His eyes were intent and she found herself blushing under his scrutiny, "You seem to find yourself as my white knight on charging steed more often than not these days. Thank you again."

"You're worth it," he insisted. He shook his head in disbelief, "Why do you persist in thinking so little of yourself? You have created a masterpiece – not just anyone can do it. No one else could have pulled it off in the insane timetable you set for yourself."

Willy paused and scooted closer. "The project is 99.95 finished – a few touch ups is all that is needed. Can we have that promised talk yet?" Willy asked slowly.

"Now that you know the ugly truth about me, are you still willing to?" Veronica shot back.

"More than ever – it just shows me what a remarkable woman you are," Willy said, memorizing her face as she flushed with his compliment.

"Willy…I need to tell you something. It's very important and I'm not sure how to approach the topic gracefully…" Veronica said, her hand shaking slightly in his.

She could sense the rising apprehension as his grip tightened, "Nothing too bad – I assure you."

Veronica stared into Willy's eyes. They were as open and honest as a child's.

"I'm a bit of an emotional coward, after all – it has taken this long for me to confront my demons. You showed a tremendous amount of courage last night, telling me how you feel. I…I...just wanted to tell you…" she hesitated. Saying the words were the hardest thing she'd ever had to do, the most life altering, and she took strength from the man across from her.

"I love you Willy. No matter what happens next, I want you to know that I love you."

No sooner had the words cleared her lips than she found herself wrapped tightly in his arms, lips crashing down on hers. She knocked the hat from his head in her hurry to return the embrace. It was as if she were present for the big bang – the light and love that filled her. Veronica felt wetness on her cheeks and couldn't tell if they came from him or her. All of the pain, uncertainty, and fear melted away allowing her for the first time in many years to feel truly loved for who she was – she felt washed clean and new.

Willy pulled away reluctantly, "Thank God! I was afraid I'd made a fool of myself."

"No," she breathed, taking a moment to realize what had happened – that he felt the same way about her that she did about him. Veronica realized that she was grinning like a loon and Willy had a similar expression on his face.

Veronica took the incentive to collect a long slow kiss from Willy, one he gladly provided. He grunted suddenly and pulled away, "Mmm…wait a second."

He yanked off the bright red gloves and shot them expertly into the wastebasket across the room before thrusting his hands into the heavy weight of her hair to kiss her again - their tongues danced against each other with delight.

Veronica's breath started to come more rapidly and she could feel her nipple harden under the robe. She gasped with delight as his lips trailed down to nibble at the sensitive juncture of her shoulder and neck. The feel of his bare hand on her skin was threatening to overwhelm her self-control.

Experimentally, she took his hand and breathed gently on it. The fingers twitched and his breathing sped up. She kissed one of the soft fingertips and heard him moan softly. Greatly daring, she took the long digit between her lips and sucked softly, watching his face.

His eyes darkened and he closed his eyes and threw his head back, swallowing convulsively. When he recovered, he looked at her – eyes dark with passion and growled causing a rush of heat to rush between her legs in arousal.

Things were threatening to go horizontal quite quickly and she was half-of mind to let it. Judging from the heavy-lidded expression of lust on Willy's face he was willing to do the same.

They both jerked to glare at the door as they heard a giggle. Monica and Ray-Nel looked only slightly embarrassed at being caught.

"About bloody time - If you two hadn't confessed soon, we would have been forced to take measures," Monica huffed. "Forgive me, but I need to go tell Mic-Ka – he wagered me 50 beans that it wouldn't happen until after the ceremony."

The two heads disappeared. It was easy to tell their progress through the factory as the sound of distant cheers echoed through the halls.

Willy rolled his eyes; he'd never hear the end of it. Shaking his head he faced Veronica.

"Moving a little fast there," he admitted, stroking her wild length of hair, tilting his forehead to rest against her own. Veronica could feel the puffs of his hot breath against her face as she nodded.

"I'm supposed to go visit Reggie and Spencer today."

"When?"

"No specific time – they know how I get when I work."

Willy swallowed and Veronica was tempted to follow that bobbing flesh with her tongue.

"Who would you prefer to join you?" he asked, shifting uncomfortably and she sensed what his problem was with a smile - guy cramp.

"Whoever is available. Why, are you interested?" she purred, playing along.

"I might be. When were you planning on going?"

"As soon as I get dressed," she slid from his arms to cross to the dresser to grab clothes. Veronica could feel the weight of his eyes on her back. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with this mop though. Maybe I should chop it."

"Wait and see if you get used to it. I kinda like it," he said enjoying watching the hypnotic sway as she moved.

Rolling her eyes she retreated into the bathroom, "Great – we're a couple for less than 15 minutes and you're already telling how to fix my hair."

"No I'm not – I'm expressing an opinion," he called.

_I'd love to see what it looks like sprawled across my bed_, Bob muttered. Bob was kind enough to provide the mental image – Veronica, her head thrown back in ecstasy, nude body gleaming against his dark sheets, the waterfall of fiery hair strewn about her like a halo.

Not helping Bob, Willy thought – and concentrated on the ugly image of Slugworth and Prodnose again. Prodnose was squeaking, "Take me you savage beast!" to the flabby Slugworth.

Ugh!

Veronica came out to see Willy with his eyes closed and an expression of profound revulsion on his face. She watched curiously as he shuddered and opened his eyes. A bright smile lit his face as soon as he saw her.

"Problem?" she asked.

"Not anymore. Just a disturbing thought," he shrugged, climbing to his feet.

Veronica had donned the sage colored cargo pants and a cream- colored tee shirt. She pulled on the navy blue zip sweater before donning her worn coat. She had pulled the long hair into a ponytail and looped the length through the band several times making rather elegant folds that decorated the nape of her neck. Pulling on her boots, she indicated she was ready.

Willy grabbed his hat and pulled a fresh pair of gloves from his pocket, "Let me grab my coat from my office before we go."

Donning the hat, he pulled open the door to allow Veronica to go first. She froze when she saw an Oompa Loompa who'd been just about to knock. "Won-Ka, there is a strange man waiting at the gate. He has said that he bears a message for Ms. Carmichael."

"Are you expecting anyone?" Willy asked.

Veronica shook her head, rummaging through her brain for a clue to the unknown man's identity.

"Well, let's go see who it is," Willy's grin turned predatory. "Smily, please let someone know to meet me at the front door with my coat." Smily bowed and took off.

They took the Wonkavator to the long passageway that led up to the front door. Willy collected his long black coat and sunglasses from the red jumpsuited Oompa Loompa, "Thanks! Get back, it's cold out there and I don't want you or anyone else getting sick from the draft."

The huge doors creaked open and Veronica felt exposed to the huge cold world beyond. Willy squeezed her hand and whispered, "Don't worry. I'll be right at your side."

They strode out together. It was a short walk to the main wrought iron gateway into the factory, but to her it felt like at least a half a mile. She picked out the strange man Smily had mentioned. It was a large man, thick through the middle with a receding hairline and rich chocolate colored skin. His eyes were carefully blank and he wore a tan trenchcoat.

They approached the gate and stopped a few feet away.

"Ms. Veronica Carmichael?" asked the man in a surprisingly reedy tenor.

She nodded, unwilling to speak.

The man reached into his coat and she could feel Willy tense by her side. He stepped forward and in front of her protectively, his cane held defensively. The man paused, an expression of amusement on his face and Willy's posture and then proceeded to draw a plain brown envelope from the interior pocket of his jacket. He held the envelope through the gate, "This is for you ma'am."

Veronica cautiously stepped forward to take the envelope.

"You've been officially served. Have a nice day," the man said, and turned to disappear into the last minute holiday shopping crowd behind him.

She watched in confusion, glancing down at the envelope in her hands. She carefully tore the end off and slid the paper out. Reading it, she furrowed her brow. _This has beyond a doubt been one of the strangest days of my life_.

"What is it?" Willy asked.

"It's a restraining order issued against me. I'm supposed to stay 50 meter or more away from Victor and have no further contact with him." She read, further. "Supposedly I've been stalking him."

Willy quickly realized that Victor Brahm was doing his level best to throw Veronica off balance by throwing this restraining order at her. What he couldn't figure was what he hoped to accomplish by doing so. He watched Veronica anxiously, after the emotional upheaval of last night and the stresses she has gone through, he was honestly afraid she would pass out, or cry or break down into straight catatonia.

To Willy's surprise, she began to laugh.

He hadn't seen that one coming. Maybe it was a side effect of the Wonkavite?

"The silly ass. Why the devil would I want to even be in the same city as him, much less be following his every move," she giggled, her eyes merry. "Restraining orders are only effective if the person accused actually _wants_ to see the offended party. This is rich!"

He hadn't figured it from that angle – Victor had indeed overplayed his hand and had managed to back himself into a legal corner.

Of course, rats were their most dangerous when cornered…

"Let's get out of here," Willy said, taking her arm back inside and to the Wonkavator to travel to Reggie and Spencers. She crumpled up the paper and jammed it into her ever present messenger bag, allowing herself to be led.

"I can't wait to tell Reggie this one."


	29. Chapter 29

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. The next question in our series of "Ask the Oompa Loompa" comes from KayCee from Tecumsah, OK who asks: "Why do you all look identical? Tupik-Ra answers: "Our tribe has lived on an isolated island for thousands of generations with a fairly limited population. Certain characteristics are common, however, we are not identical by a long shot. I could ask the same thing of the population of Asia – they all share similar racial traits as well Would you call everyone there identical?" If you would care to ask Tupik-Ra a question about the Oompa Loompa, let me know and we'll see if we can get it answered. _

_– Stealth Phoenix_

_**Adult content warning – if matters of adult sexuality bother you, skip and move on. You've been warned.**_

**Chapter 29**

Music thumped with visceral rhythm through the small room. Twist, spin, stretch, bow and slide – the two figures moved and danced with each other in sinuous elegance. Eyes were locked with rapturous intensity as they clung, pressed and moved with each other. Perspiration rolled down their faces, but exertion was ignored in the pursuit of a deeper pleasure. Their breathing quickened, hearts raced as they sought completion in each other's arms. The song rose to its climax as the shorter collapsed in a controlled fall into the other's arms to gaze lovingly into his eyes.

They moved toward each other, eyes locked…lips softened and ready to receive the other….

…when a rude pounding on the door completely disrupted the mood.

Spencer groaned in frustration as Reggie helped him stand upright from the final pose of the choreography he's been working on. "Bloody interruptions," he growled, grabbing a towel and his shirt where it was draped over the kitchen stool.

Reggie shot him a sympathetic grin before peering out of the eyehole to see who had so rudely interrupted what was about to become a rather romantic interlude. He gave a small cry and fumbled for the locks, "It's Ronnie!"

Locks conquered, Reggie threw open the door and grabbed the startled woman on the other side in a tight embrace, spinning her. "Dear God woman! Don't frighten us like this again!"

Veronica laughed at her brother's reception, "Yes, I promise not to have any more homes burn down the night of your wedding. Come on, like I planned that to happen?"

Reggie froze, staring at her for a moment in confusion, "Did you get extensions? What have you done with your hair?"

Veronica winced – less than a minute, a new record, "Long story."

Willy stood uncertainly on the threshold and Spencer waved him in, "Please enter our humble abode, Mr. Wonka. What brings you today?"

"Escorting Veronica and providing transportation to avoid cross-town traffic," Willy replied, removing the huge sunglasses and returning them to his pocket.

"Sorry – you caught me working," Reggie blushed, grabbing a towel to drape across his shoulders and mop his sweating face. "Ronnie, would you or Mr. Wonka care for something to drink?"

"If I would, I'll get it myself. Go clean up, you smell like ass." She said, giving him a fond peck on the cheek before wincing, "Ew!"

"I can take a hint. Back in a few minutes." Reggie promised, he placed a quick peck on Spencer's cheek before dashing off to the bedroom.

As soon as the door was closed, Spencer spun to Veronica, "Quick, grab the projector – we can unscrew the light bulb or break it or something to avoid the slideshow."

They moved like tigers, pouncing on the inoffensive piece of electronic equipment and partly dismantling it before Willy could even blink.

"What did that thing ever do to you?" he asked curiously.

"Death through tedium. Do you want to be subjected to 158 slides of 'wonderful' examples of Middle-Age, Renaissance and Romantic period architecture – and not the thrilling bits?" Veronica explained, taking the small light bulb out of the front end, subjecting it to a squint-eyed inspection before whacking it repeatedly against the table.

"Not particularly. I never was that fond of staring at buildings – even when I had to build them out of chocolate." Willy mused.

"This really is for the best – future generations will thank us. We do this for the betterment of mankind. Quick – he'll almost be done!" Spencer whispered, screwing the front lens and plastic mount back into position.

Spencer finished and dove over the couch in the pit area to sit as Veronica grabbed Willy's hand to jerk him to sit next to her in the love seat.

"Quick! Your coat!" she hissed, shucking her own with record speed. Willy was taken aback as she nearly attacked him, wresting the coat from his arms and throwing them neatly to drape over the single seat across from them. She had just sagged back in an exaggerated posture of relaxation when Reggie strolled back in, dressed and toweling his hair dry, "Shower's free."

"Thanks Love! I won't be but a sec." Spencer twittered, passing Reggie and giving him a quick goose before shooting into the bedroom.

"I'll wait until he gets back before showing you the pictures. I know he likes to add his own comments. Have you ever been to Spain, Mr. Wonka?" Reggie began to boot up his laptop to pull up the PowerPoint presentation he'd designed of their vacation.

It was like watching a train wreck, Willy thought to himself. You could see it coming, and yet it was too fascinating to look away.

"Several times, particularly Madrid and Seville," he replied in a distant tone, watching Reggie's movements with cat-like curiosity.

Veronica nudged him sharply.

"You'll probably appreciate the Persian influence on the arabesque and tile work," Reggie said enthusiastically as he plugged the laptop into the small portable projector. "Ronnie, be a doll and lower the screen for me please."

"Reggie, I don't think Mr. Wonka would be interested in your honeymoon pictures," she said. Willy's reaction was going to give them away and they'd be subjected to a three hour lecture on arches – _arches_ of all things.

"Actually, I think it might be interesting," Willy fluted, then gasped at the sharp elbow rammed into his ribs. Veronica shot him the Evil Eye™ – what was he _doing_?

"Great. Ronnie, if you please?" Reggie said, flipping on the power to the projector.

She glared at Willy before throwing herself to her feet and stalking over to the collapsible projection screen that had been set up against the far wall. She managed to get the bloody thing to stay down on the third try and resumed her seat next to the smirking Willy.

Spencer re-entered the room as Reggie frowned at the projector. "What the hell…it worked during the test run this morning…"

Spencer shot a warning look at Willy to control himself from where he sat silently shaking with laughter next to Veronica. "What's wrong? You had it up this morning."

_I'm sure you did_, Veronica thought darkly, pinching Willy as he started to wheeze with laughter.

Reggie unscrewed the mount and removed the bulb and inspected it. "The bloody filliment is busted. It must have gone during the test run. Sorry Ronnie, I know you were looking forward to the show."

Veronica was gracious in her victory, "That's okay Reggie. Maybe next time."

Willy had managed to regain control of himself, even as his eyes watered from the effort. The innocent expression and right note of disappointment from Veronica was almost too much. She had an amazing amount of acting talent – had he not witnessed the sabotage himself, he would be tempted to believe her.

Plus, now he had leverage should he ever need a favor.

"Speaking of dim bulbs, Ronnie, did you ever get a hold of that Victor fellow?" Spencer asked from his sprawled place on the couch.

Willy's glee drained away even as Veronica chuckled, "Oh yeah."

Reggie took his place by his partner's side. "What's so funny?"

"Victor took out a restraining order on me. Apparently he found that phone call very threatening." She said dryly.

"That's a bit overkill, wouldn't you say?" Reggie asked incredulous.

"You didn't actually threaten to castrate him with a spoon, did you? I thought you were joking." Spencer sputtered. Veronica was about as threatening as the Care Bears.

"No. I placed the call from Mr. Wonka's office and Willy wisely recorded the conversation," Veronica said.

The two men shot a look at Willy. "Why would you feel the need to record a conversation with Veronica's old boss?"

Willy began to get a sinking feeling in his stomach even as Veronica squirmed uncomfortably next to him. He looked sternly at her and her small apologetic shrug said volumes.

_She hadn't told them_.

"That would be to help the police with their investigation," Willy said primly. He loved her, but he'd be damned if he was going to lie to her brother for her sake – especially for something she should have told him in the first place.

"What investigation? Ronnie?" Reggie's brow furrowed as he glowered at her.

"Thanks a lot. Now I'll never hear the end of this," she muttered at Willy.

"Ronnie, what have you managed to get yourself into now?" Spencer said, shaking his head.

Veronica sighed, _I guess I have to come clean_.

"Willy's security system in the studio picked up an intruder the night of the fire. That intruder apparently broke in and got caught – he used my heat lamp to free himself and escape. The police picked him up the next morning in the hospital and took him into custody," she explained, wondering if there was any way to gloss over the next bit.

"So what does the pillock Victor have to do with anything?" Reggie asked a hard light in his eye.

Veronica squirmed again, "Um…he might be responsible for hiring the burglar?"

Willy cleared his throat gently, giving her a reproving glare.

She shot him a pleading look.

He shook his head slightly and gave the two men watching the exchange a pointed look.

Veronica sighed.

"Fine. The man who got caught pointed out Victor as the individual who hired him to break into the apartment and was supposed to do something horrible to me."

Their reaction was all that she had imagined in a worst-case scenario and more…

"You mean that buggering idiot who called here actually hired a hit man to come after you?" Reggie yelled, even as Spencer groaned and sunk his head into his hands.

"Ronnie, why didn't you tell me this? Some maniac is after you and you blissfully tell Spencer and I...," Reggie switched to a blistering falsetto, "Go on your honeymoon! Never mind my apartment burned down and I'm being chased by some crazed stalker – go enjoy your vacation!"

Spencer settled for giving her a sad look, "Ronnie…"

Veronica just stared at Willy. _See, this is why I didn't tell them_, her look said.

"Guys, there is nothing you could do. I didn't want to pile worry on your shoulders when you're helpless to do anything about it," she protested.

"You've been gallivanting around in public…practically inviting some thug to…"

"Actually," Willy broke mercifully in, "She's been working non-stop since you left in my factory."

Spencer shook his head, still in disbelief, "I need a drink – who else?" He crossed to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels and held it up invitingly.

"Hit me," She replied before returning her attention to the distraught man, "Reggie – would you please calm down. Do you really think I'd just go waltzing around knowing that I'm in danger? We've already been taking precautions."

"I've got the finest security system in the world. No one gets in or out without my personal knowledge," Willy said, supporting her.

Spencer handed glasses around and poured. He slugged back his own before pouring another. "Not to get off topic here, but if Victor hired the hit man, why would he take out a restraining order on you?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. Willy thinks it was a premeditative move to throw the police off. He's accused me of blackmailing him and using the hit man as the go-between. Frankly, in either case, he's backed himself into a corner with the order since I turned over a copy of the only contact I've had with him to the police before the order even showed up."

Reggie sipped his whiskey and pointed a finger accusingly at her, "Don't avoid the issue. You didn't tell us about what was going on."

Veronica sighed and rubbed at her forehead with one hand, a headache was threatening. Willy slipped one hand into hers and squeezed supportively. She shot him a grateful, if weary grin.

Reggie turned his attention to the silent man sitting next to his sister, "And you! You promised to keep her safe…"

"I have. She's sitting here whole and healthy. I would never let anything happen to her if it is within my power to prevent it," Willy said firmly, gazing deeply into Veronica's eyes.

Even Reggie fell silent with the intensity of that promise. "You still didn't tell me…," he grumbled.

Spencer was a lot quicker picking up emotional subtext than Reggie, "Hello? What's going on here?" he asked, shooting the pair on the couch a questioning glance.

Willy was still holding Veronica's hand – the _notorious germaphobe was holding her hand_. Yes, he still had the glove on, but still...Veronica was leaning forward slightly, her posture protective of the man next to her from her threatening brother.

"Holy crap!" Spencer blurted realizing what he was looking at. Veronica had finally fallen in love! What's more - Wonka loved her back.

"What?" Reggie asked annoyed.

Spencer looked expectantly at the pale woman. She blushed and looked down at their joined hands before glancing at Willy with a shy expression. Willy seemed equally besotted and his eyes never left Veronica.

Even Reggie picked up on that one.

"Ronnie?"

"Yes, Reggie?"

"Is there something you would like to tell me?"

Veronica blushed further and seemed to find she and Willy's joined hands of intense interest.

Reggie turned a jaded eye on the Chocolatier, "Mr Wonka?"

Willy simply stared back, smiling, daring the man to comment. The smile and certain glint in his eye had nothing of humor in it and everything of a dark promise to inflict hell if a line was crossed.

It was a tactic that had served him well facing down vicious competitors and safety inspectors.

Reggie held the gaze for a moment longer and set his glass down without breaking eye contact, "Very well. Ronnie – I'm glad for you. I'm guessing you decided to tell Mr. Wonka – Willy – about…"

"Yes," she said, wishing she could sink into the floor to avoid this stupid conversation.

"Good. Mr. Wonka, I can tell you care for my sister and will treat her like the treasure she is. Just know that if you break her heart, I will hunt you down and kill you myself – it doesn't matter where you hide."

"And I'll stomp on the little wiggly bits that are left," Spencer chimed in, leaning forward to take his partner's hand in his. "Incidentally, I'm also thrilled for you two."

Willy relaxed and looked at Veronica with relief, the biggest hurdle to their relationship passed – the family approval.

"Thank you," Veronica whispered, sagging back to lean against Willy's shoulder for a minute and close her eyes. _What a relief_!

Willy regarded her for a moment, reaching up to brush a wild strand of hair away from her closed eyelashes. The tender gesture was not lost on the newlyweds and both felt a little better for seeing it.

Willy turned to the men, "Veronica has worked hard to complete her project – to the point of collapse. I would appreciate it if we could drop this topic for the moment and move on to other more pleasant ones."

"Thank you," she said again softly, opening her eyes and looking at him with tender affection before giving his hand an extra squeeze and letting go to take the glass of whiskey for a sip.

Reggie sagged, "I'm sorry. I just worry about you."

"It's all right. You're my big brother. It's in the job description."

Spencer leapt in, "Well… I for one would like to propose a quick toast then." The small group collected their glasses and raised them. "To new friends, new loves and new adventures. And as for the slimeball, Victor 'illegitimi non carborundum'."

Willy snickered and they all took a sip of the smooth whiskey.

--

Victor was enjoying his own evening as well. He was catering the Christmas party of a distinguished A-list actor and mingling with the crowd. The place was crawling with celebrities and the star-struck wanna-bes. He had just managed to convince a twenty-something young starlet that he knew Francis Ford Coppola and would put a nice word in for her.

She was expressing her gratitude in his favorite way back in a store room when his cell phone rang. He ignored it for the moment to enjoy the sensation of her plump lips and warm mouth wrapped around his swollen member. He rested his hands on her bobbing head and ran his fingers through her long dark hair.

She was quite skilled and between the powerful suction and her clever probing fingers, he was soon jerking uncontrollably as he emptied his load into her receptive mouth.

The starlet delicately spit his cum into the half-filled plastic cup of her drink and rose to pull a compact and lipstick from her tiny purse.

Victor tucked himself back into his pants with a grin. Corrections made, the starlet gave him a calculatedly smoldering look, "I hope you remember me fondly when you talk to Frank, Victor."

"You bet – how could I ever forget you Amber?"

"The name's Ashley."

"Whatever."

She slapped him and twirled on her impossibly high heels and tottered out of the store room, slamming the door. Rubbing his cheek and still smiling, Victor took the phone out of his pocket and checked the number - it was his brother-in-law. He hit the redial and waited.

Jim picked up on the second ring.

"Vic! Hey buddy how've you been?" The nebbish little man on the other end said in what he thought as a smooth voice. Victor though he sounded more like some reject disco jockey.

"I'm great Jim. How's Kay and the kids?"

"Kay's great – she's at a retreat for the weekend, and I've got the kids."

Yeah, he was sure she was at a spa – with her personal trainer Rick. _Idiot_.

"So, what's up? I'm working here." Victor said, making sure the storeroom door was closed and picking up the half-empty cup off the floor.

"The restraining order was delivered today. I made sure that the cops over there got a copy of the tape you got when talking to Ms. Carmichel. Things should start picking up after the holidays. The detective I talked to….Cavenaugh was his name…indicated that Jake was willing to come to some sort of deal with the DA – so are you sure he's on the same page as you?" Jim's nasal voice said.

"Absolutely – Jake will back up anything we tell him to," Victor allowed himself a lazy mental pat on the back for turning the investigation into Jake's arrest against the very woman he was sent out against. _Nice job, Vic_!

"That's it then. Hey – are you coming over for Christmas?" Jim's eager voice asked.

"Nah – I'm working then. Hey, I'll give you a call back later, I've gotta go bust some chops. Later!" Victor quickly hung up on the little nerd.

What his sister saw in him was beyond his comprehension.

Toying with the cup, Victor imagined Veronica's reaction to the order.

_Her green eyes wide and liquid with tears, the thin hands trembling with fear, she turns on Willy Wonka to beg him to forgive her…Wonka turns his back in disgust and walks back into his factory leaving her standing alone in the snow filled courtyard – abandoned. "Oh Victor, I'm so sorry I didn't go to bed with you like you asked. It would have been the most magnificent experience of my life and now I've lost everything…" She breaks out into tears and slumps to her knees on the cold cobbles._

Yeah. He liked that image.

Unthinking, he takes a sip from the cup – only to spit the contents against the back of the door.


	30. Chapter 30

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Note to readers – Oompa Loompas are not cheap drunks. I took Tupik-Ra barhopping this weekend and for such petite people, they can hold their liquor better than I can. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 30**

While Willy and Veronica were otherwise occupied at her brother's apartment, Detective Cavenaugh of the Metropolitan Police department was pounding the pavement in search of his elusive quarry - peering into shop windows and ignoring the cold slurry creeping over the sides of his shoes to numb his feet.

He'd been on the hunt for more than three hours now. Things were coming together nicely and he needed one more vital item before he could wrap it all up. Finally, he reached his target store and slipped inside.

Cavenaugh stood quietly to one side and waited for the attention of the slim young man behind the counter. He was helping an elderly lady tend to her business. After what seemed like an eternity, but was only a few minutes, she paid her tab and collected the large variety of bags that clustered around her feet like exhausted puppies. The young man noticed him and gave him a nod of recognition and disappeared into the back of the store.

Cavenaugh sighed and against his better judgment, approached the elderly lady still attempting to balance all her bags. "Ma'am, do you need a hand getting this to your car?" he asked, his worn face creased into a small polite smile. No need to rush – after all this time he could afford to wait a few more minutes.

"Oh, Yes please. My car is just around the corner. I didn't realize I'd bought so much – but you know how it is for the holidays." She twittered as Cavenaugh collected a few of the larger bags that seemed to be giving her problems.

He followed her to a tiny beige Honda Civic snuggled up against the curb, it was blocked on the passenger side by a good sized snow-drift, but the driver's side was clear and the lady opened the door to pop open the hatchback. Cavenaugh helped her stow the packages with care so that nothing might shift while she drove.

"Thank you, young man. It's nice to know that chivalry isn't dead." The woman said with a smile as Cavenaugh shut the back for her.

"It's no problem Ma'am, just call me an overgrown boy scout who can't resist an attractive lady," he smiled, enjoying flustering her with the compliment.

She patted his cheek, handing him a small package wrapped in festive paper and said, "What a good boy you are – here's your reward. "Happy Christmas!"

He smiled and waved as he moved back to the store out of the cold wind. He regarded the small package in his hand. It was a cardboard underneath cheap wrapping paper, slight rattle with the smell of pecan and chocolate inside – cookies. His favorite!

He tucked the box into his pocket, lingering over the smell of home baked cookies for a moment before his mind returned to business. Entering the store, he caught the attention of the young man. The man kept his face carefully blank as Cavenaugh approached. Their previous encounters hadn't ended warmly and both sides were wary.

"Good afternoon Tom, how are you today?" Cavenaugh asked, launching the first volley.

"Quite well Detective Cavenaugh. Yourself?" Tom replied, shifting from foot to foot.

"Very well. Let me cut to the chase, I don't feel like asking anymore and neither one of us is interested in making things uncomfortable," Cavenaugh said, giving the man a flat stare and leaning forward to rest both hands flat on the counter – projecting every ounce of his authority to emphasize his point.

"Indeed, Sir. I want no trouble and want nothing more than to send you away happy." Tom said, throat swallowing rapidly.

"Good. Now, do you have anything to tell me?"

"Yes sir, here is what you came for. I'm sorry there was any misunderstanding." Tom said, slipping the large flat package onto the counter toward the detective with an air of palatable relief.

Cavenaugh nodded sharply and gave the young man a tight smile – no need to carry a grudge. He picked up the package and left the shop.

Tom sighed as he left – better to see the back of that one than the front.

Cavenaugh paused outside to slip open the box to examine the contents. It was exactly as he'd hoped and he was finally done. He'd managed to run his quarry to ground and could now enjoy the rewards.

He'd gotten his daughter the signed copy of "Where's my Cow?" by Terry Pratchett for Christmas.

He'd ordered the bloody thing months ago and while various copies occasionally passed through the small second-hand bookstore, this was the one he'd specifically requested – and it had arrived before Christmas. Shopping completed for the year!

Cavenaugh stuffed the book under his arm and hurried to the small pub close to Willy Wonka's factory to make his 2 p.m. appointment. He was meeting the primary point of contact for the case to make an informal stab at seeing what kind of resistance persecuting this case was going to get.

The pub was small and warm with just a few tables scattered around a long L-shaped bar that took up most of the available room with a small active kitchen in the back that also served as a take-away station. He slid into the seat where the waiting occupant smiled up at him.

Humphrey Ettinger, Esq. was the lawyer representing the Met Police prosecuting the case. He had a long working relationship with Cavenaugh who considered the man a friend.

"I hope you don't mind, I already placed our orders – since you always get the same bloody thing, I went ahead and grabbed your usual." Humphrey said, taking a sip of his pint.

"Thanks. Now, shall we discuss?"

"Okay – to summarize. The fire was set by Jake Manning – who plea bargained all other charges down to Arson, for which he can expect to serve 7-9 years. Ms. Carmichael was living and working there and according to Manning's confession, he was hired to assault her by a Victor Brahm, resident of California. Mr. Brahm is Ms. Carmichael's previous employer and they parted company due to conflicts. Muddying the waters, Brahm has claimed that Carmichael was blackmailing him and using Manning as the intermediary," Cavenaugh paused while the waitress brought out his own black and tan.

"Frankly – Brahm is full of shit. We've got Manning's confession, tape of him breaking in to support it – so that portion is an open and shut case. Brahm's lawyer provided us a tape that he's claiming is a recorded conversation with Carmichael making her threats. He doesn't know that Carmichael also recorded the conversation and gave us that copy as well. The two conversations do not correspond." Ettinger said.

"Really? I haven't heard Brahm's. What's up?"

"The tape he gave us about two days ago supports his claim that she's blackmailing him. However, since you were so kind to provide a copy of what I'm going to call 'the original' about two weeks back, I had the tapes checked on a hunch and Brahm's has evidence of being digitally manipulated – pretty high quality but whoever the sound engineer was left noticeable traces.

"Ooh! So we get to nail him for tampering with evidence as well. Guys like this just make my day." Cavenaugh said enthusiastically.

"Mine too. The only problem is going to be getting the Yanks to work with us to prosecute in a timely manner. Apparently, they've decided to look a little deeper into the business workings of Mr. Brahm and this may tie into a large extortion case against him," Ettinger's eyes gleamed with glee.

"Bloody Americans, always complicating things," Cavenaugh smirked, raising his glass to commend their efforts. "So when can we expect their support on this? I don't want to rush this if we can nail him for anything else."

"I'll have to get back with you after the holidays. So, what's Wonka like? Is he the fruit loop we saw during the Golden Ticket contest?"

"He's a bit odd. He has this weird grin – like some sort of Ken doll. I thought initially that he was some sort of poofter with the fancy clothes he wears, but he stuck pretty close to Carmichael though," Cavenaugh confessed, switching from professional to personal with that question. "He's really pale – and has purple eyes for Christ's sake. Other than that, he acted fairly normally. I don't know what those kids from the contest were talking about, but other than some weird way to make lemonade, things seemed fairly normal – in his own flamboyant way."

"So is he…" Ettinger made a little limp wrist move, indicating Wonka's sexual preference.

"Don't think so, judging by the way he kept looking at Carmichael. He seemed pretty protective of her. Actually, he's quick – we had a sprinter down at the station and Wonka tripped the man up. Good reflexes."

"What's she like?"

"Shy, a bit of a quiet bird. She works with candy so I can see the common interest," Cavenaugh paused to sip his drink, his eyes lit up in a sly smile, "She's a looker though, pretty dark auburn hair with hazel eyes. Kinda scrawny, but not real awkward about it."

He reflected for a moment before continuing with a puzzled furrow on his brow, "Her reaction when I ran up to meet her seemed a little off – pretty skittish. I think something may have happened to her in the past. She's got some pretty heavy scarring on her hands. I thought it might be some kind of industrial accident, but now I wonder…" he made a mental note to check into her past a little more thoroughly.

"Humph! Sounds like Wonka has a thing for her. Good riddance – he deserves a little happiness for all that he spreads it around with that candy of his," Ettinger said as the waitress brought around their sandwiches.

They fell upon the food with hearty appetite and the rest of the visit was dedicated toward discussion of the other cases that they were pursuing. Even as he spoke, Cavenaugh felt moved to nudge a Carmichael's background a bit more to figure out what she'd been hiding.

Curious.

--

There was a council meeting that evening for the Oompa Loompa. The seven primary members sat closest to the ceremonial fire; Tupik-Ra, legal counsel and lore master; Sher-Man-Ra, psychiatrist and Shaman for the tribe; Dev-On, medical doctor and Healer; Mic-Ka, chief and leader of the Oompa Loompa; Moni-Ka representing the overall health and popular opinion of the tribe and incidentally Mic-Ka's wife; Ori-Vil, engineer and head hunter for the tribe; and finally Nei-Vil, who championed the customs and traditions of the tribe as its dance master who was also the driving force behind the preparations for the Exodus Ceremony.

"Ver-Oni-Ka and Won-Ka have declared their love for one another – finally!" Mic-Ka started out with a roll of his eyes summing up the tribe's exasperation with the outsiders for their indirect ways.

"Indeed – we nearly had to lock them in a room together to let those two get it out of their system," Moni-Ka huffed.

"That would not have been conducive to their relationship," Sher-Man-Ra chided, "That would have just gotten them angry with us."

"In either case, I'm glad – trying to re-do the ceremony at this point would have been impossible," said Nei-Vil, looking worn and tired. He'd been laboring with the tribe to perfect their dances and rehearsing the ceremonies until everyone knew their part letter perfect – everyone except their tall friends. That was what kept him up nights in worry.

Sher-Man-Ra looked to the younger man with a grin of compassion, "We would not ask the impossible of you Nei-Vil. Don't worry, I know these particular outlanders well, they will take their parts in our celebration without prompting."

"Here, you look like you need it," Dev-On said, handing Nei-Vil a cocao bean to consume. "I know you will not rest easy until everything is over, but don't use Ver-Oni-Ka as your role model to work until collapse."

They all chuckled at that.

"The supplies are gathered, the feast is cooking, teams are ready to assist the outlanders with their preparations tomorrow morning. The Chocolate room is being groomed for the main performance and the center of the village is being decorated as we speak for the rest." Ori-Vil summarized, glancing at his son with worry. "Your mother is worried about you too, Nei-Vil."

Nei-Vil grimaced, "Won-Ka bringing Ver-Oni-Ka here was a good thing. I just worry about the omens – her home burning down, these charges rising against her like a dark evil. What if she is to play the Great Destroyer to Won-Ka's Creator?"

Sher-Man-Ra shook his head emphatically, "Absolutely not. She represents a force of female creation essential to both him and us. The path may be hidden, but they will show us the way. We must hold to our faith in both of them."

"The lore speaks clearly. Sher-Man-Ra is correct. The threat that follows her is not based in her own nature, but of one who lusts to destroy her," Tupik-Ra said in a solemn voice.

They pondered that for a moment, before Monica made a humming noise. "I suspect Won-Ka and his woman are up to something," Moni-Ka said. "Something about her obsessive work in her studio strikes me as contrived."

Sher-Man-Ra agreed, "From what I've learned about her, the drive to work is there, but I do not think she would retreat into her work as a form of shelter from her problems. You are correct Moni-Ka, what have you learned?"

Moni-Ka shrugged, "She's been locked in the studio for weeks, without food or sleep, what could I learn with such limited contact? I suspect Char-Li knows something, but he had vowed not to speak of it."

Mic-Ka raised his hand to the aggravation of having something going on under their noses and not know what it was, "That may be, but I have a feeling things will be revealed at the ceremony."

Ori-Vil looked eager, "Do you know something?"

"No, just a feeling," the Chief said, and smiled at Moni-Ka as she took his hand.

Turning his attention back to the meetings, he said briskly, "Alright now, what is the latest information about that shipment of green caterpillars for the ceremony…"

--

"How badly do you need all this stuff?" Willy asked Veronica desperately as they made yet another trip up to the roof lugging multiple packages from Reggie and Spencer's apartment.

"Considering we're holding onto everything I own at the moment – quite badly," she paused and looked at the stack of boxes in Willy's arms before diving to grab one in the middle of the stack, "Actually, this one stays…and this one….and that one over there…"

"Veronica!" he yelped as the stack, massively unbalanced threatened to crash to the ground. He quickly squatted and let the packages tumble into the Wonkavator from a lesser height.

"Sorry – these are Reggie and Spencer's Christmas presents. That's what the majority of this stuff is – I ordered on-line from the factory."

Willy's attitude took a dramatic shift as he looked at the collection with new eyes. "So is mine in there?" he asked casually, prodding a few boxes to one side to try and read the labels.

"Yes," Veronica swatted at him and re-stacked the pile neatly in the corner, "Stop that or I'll give it to someone else instead."

She had to pause and re-adjust the bulging knot of hair at the nape of her neck again. The rubber band had snapped under the weight and it was now held in position by a couple of pencils. The unaccustomed weight was incredible and her temples and neck throbbed with pain.

"One more load and that should be it – we can make our farewells and take off," she sighed, rolling her aching head back and forth trying to relieve sore muscles.

She felt warm hands in gloves rest gently on her shoulders for a moment before sliding up to knead the base of her skull. She groaned with relief and allowed her head to slump forward in silent invitation to continue.

Willy chuckled and continued to rub the muscles, actually feeling them tremble under his fingers. "Better?" he asked, resting her hands against her shoulders once more.

"Uh-huh," she said, raising her hands to rest on his. She leaned back to place a gentle kiss on his cheek for the sweet gesture. "Thank you."

He grinned at her, "When I was testing my Hair Creams, you should have seen what happened to poor Oli-Va. He looked like cousin It from the Adam's family. It was all I could do to keep a straight face."

Willy kissed her lightly before guiding her back down the stairs, "I'm happy to say I like yours much better."

"I'm thinking of getting Spencer to hack off about a foot and a half," she said, then quickly added seeing Willy's crestfallen expression, "It'll still be plenty long – past my shoulders, but a bit more manageable. I was going to donate it to the organization that makes wigs for kids with cancer."

"Hey – that's a great idea. I wonder if I can develop my hair creams to work for them too…" Willy paused, musing for a moment – frozen on the stairs.

She took his hand and led him unknowing down the stairs back to the apartment – he was lost in thought and she knew that he'd return in a few minutes. _No use letting him freeze to death for his efforts_. Willy came out of his trance and looked at their joined hand with a grin, letting her still think he was out to lunch just to enjoy the contact.

Reggie and Spencer were once again, dancing in each other's arms through the apartment as they returned. Something instrumental was playing on the stereo and Reggie was calling out step counts in time with the music.

Spencer got tangled up and almost tripped, but Reggie laughed and helped him maintain his balance, "Okay – maybe that won't work, but I've got to come up with something before the holidays are out."

"What was that?" Willy asked curiously. The fancy footwork looked like something between a tango and a fandango.

"Just working on some footwork for "Lord of the Rings: The musical". Something slow and sweet, but light on your feet," Reggie said absently, going through the steps slowly to figure out the sticking point.

Willy watched for a moment, then suddenly grabbed Veronica and swept her into the dance. His suddenness forced a squeak from her throat. His arms guided her movements against him and for a moment she forgot to breath. His eyes, glinting mischievously, warned her that he was about to do something, so she relaxed as best she could.

Willy took off into a wild tango and only through long association with her brother was she able to keep up two out of three steps. She was laughing at the look of fierce concentration on Willy's face, tongue sticking out one corner of his mouth. They moved with stalking grace back to the bemused couple before Willy whipped her into a deep dip to regard them from an upside down stance.

"Was that something like what you were aiming for?" Willy asked, grinning.

"No," said Reggie, one finger placed over his quaking lips in an attempt to muffle the laughter attempting to break out.

"Nope," Spencer said with a wide grin. "Although you get points for style and making Ronnie's hair fall down again."

Her hair was pooled on the floor and part of it was under his foot. She attempted to return upright, only to yelp in pain as it yanked on her scalp. "Ow! Help?"

Willy shuffled his feet back, helping balance her until she was free and could stand upright.

Veronica glared at him from under the concealing curtain of hair, "That's it. Spencer – cut me, man. I need it. Cut me. Please!"

Spencer quirked his lips,"Since you were so kind to toss in the magic word…hang on, let me get the good scissors."

Before she could blink, she was seated at the kitchen stool, rubber band adjusted to about between her shoulder blades. "Ready?" Spencer asked, which was a moot point since with a couple of heavy cuts, the massive length was shorn. Her head almost snapped forward with the relieved weight.

Reggie held up what could have passed for an animal pelt with a rubber band at the end – it was just about three feet in length. "That'll make a couple of wigs worth. Nice job."

She shook her head with relief.

Willy just stared at the wild length, "You know – it really does look creepy just hanging there."

Reggie twitched the length in Willy's direction and he flinched.

They fetched their coats and with promises to visit for Christmas, made their exit.

The Wonkavator made it's liftoff with only a few lights in the surrounding buildings turning on with the noise. They flew over the city, bright lights sparking below and stars twinkling above. Willy pulled her to lean back against him and they just stood together to enjoy the view.

"This is a perfect moment," he whispered into her ear. She nodded and snuggled closer, feeling safe and happy.

He started humming under his breath and she turned around to smack his arm playfully with a laugh

"Not 'A Whole New World. Cliché alert!"

"Oh my dear - you have yet to plumb the depths of my cheesiness."

They laughed, but he let the expression slide from his face as he studied her, lit only by starlight. She stared back, mesmerized by his pale skin and violet eyes veiled by the rim of his hat. She moved closer and leaned her face up to claim a kiss on those impossibly soft lips. She was mesmerized by him, his salty sweet smell, the firmness of lean muscle in his arms as he pressed against her, the wonderful softness of the long dark locks that brushed against her face. She loved the way he reached up to cup her face and stroke her loose hair – his fingers left her aching for more with every touch. She rose on her tiptoes to lightly kiss his jaw line and to nuzzle his ears.

Judging by the long inhale and the sudden crash of his lips upon her own, he seemed to like that. His tongue begged permission to enter her mouth by delicately rasping against her lips. She smiled under his kiss, only to gasp as he slid one hand under her coat to rest on her behind and pull her closer – his tongue dancing with hers. The hand on her bottom rubbed in soothing circles and relaxing her.

She allowed her hand to slide up to the nape of his neck and play with the fine delicate hair and he moaned into her mouth. Deciding that wasn't enough, she reached down to snake under the multiple layers of clothing under his coat to rest her cold hand against the warm bare flesh of his back. Willy yelped in surprise before gazing at her, her eyes sparkling with challenge, his own wide-eyed with shock and arousal. He dove back into the kiss in a purposeful manner that made her groan with anticipation.

So distracted were they that it was without their notice that the Wonkavator entered the factory and drifted to a stop in front of Veronica's door without its usual antics.

There was a discreet cough and Willy broke away to see Charlie waiting with a mischievous smirk on his face. "Charlie! How long have you been there?" he asked, a blush rising across his cheeks. He quickly restored his immaculate appearance as Charlie actually giggled.

"Since you arrived about two minutes ago. Good evening Ms. Carmichael. How are you this evening?" The boy said cheekily, enjoying his mentor's discomfort.

Veronica was blushing as well, "Um…Fine, thank you."

She knelt and quickly gathered a collection of boxes from the stack I the corner, "I brought back presents for you and your family. Could you take them to stack under your tree, since you're already here…?"

Willy assisted and they quickly had the packages and bags stowed in Veronica's room or in the arms of the hapless boy. Poor Charlie found his arms encumbered with a multitude of boxes and gaily wrapped bags.

"I can't see," he protested.

"That's good; you need to know this factory backwards, forwards and blind-folded – what a splendid way to start!" Willy twittered, spinning the boy and nudging him to stagger blindly down the hall.

_Ahhh…revenge_, Willy thought fondly, watching his apprentice blunder away.

He turned to Veronica and claimed another lingering kiss that promised many things to come, "I'd better get him back. The Oompa Loompas will be waking us early tomorrow to start preparations for the Exodus Ceremony – I think it best to let you be tonight."

The deep tone in his voice was promising otherwise and she wanted to agree, but Charlie staggered into a doorway with a surprised cry and lost about half the packages.

"Until tomorrow then, Love." She whispered kissing him with all the suppressed passion she could muster. Apparently it was quite a bit since when she released him, Willy's ears were bright red and he had to hold his coat somewhat awkwardly for a long moment while he closed his eyes and breathed heavily. She grinned at him and whispered "Good Night Willy, my love."

"I love you Starshine. Good night." He said softly as she closed the door to her room.


	31. Chapter 31

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Serious note here: The real-world organization that collects hair to use to make wigs for children with cancer is called "Locks of Love." If you are interested in contributing, check out the link at __. Get fashionable and helpful at the same time! – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 31**

There was a pounding on the door.

Veronica ignored it to snuggle deeper into the warm blanket. Maybe it was the residual effects of the Wonkavite, or maybe finally telling Willy about her past, but she had slept without nightmares for the first time in almost three months.

The pounding continued.

She rolled onto her back, stretching well-rested limbs until they threatened to cramp. Her eyes felt so heavy and the room was comfortably dark, she started to doze once more. There had been a disturbing moment in her dream last night where a man approached her – the face wavering between Victor and Marcus – but Willy had appeared and they had segued into a Rogers/Astair dance sequence that left the shadowy figure behind.

There was a particularly loud thump outside followed by a small cry.

Veronica's eyes slammed open and she shot out of bed to the door. Was someone hurt?

Monica stood outside, sitting cross-legged on the ground, holding her head in pain. Veronica dropped to her hands and knees, "Monica! Are you alright?"

"Glad to see you awake – I ended up ramming the door and hit my head. No worries, it just stings a bit right now," The small woman smiled ruefully while rubbing her forehead.

Veronica sat back in relief, "I'm glad it's minor. It's rather a dramatic way to yank someone out of bed, mind you. I'm not used to actually getting sleep anymore - sorry about not waking up quicker."

Monica climbed to her feet and patted her on the shoulder. "No hard feelings, dear. Now, we've got to get busy – we need to get you prepared for the ceremony tonight."

Veronica was surprised, "Me? What for?"

"You are a part of all this, be it that you came into that part rather late – but we want you to come to both the re-enactment of Won-Ka discovering the tribe and our ceremonies at the village later on," Monica explained, moving into the bedroom, leaving Veronica to follow.

Veronica felt a quick spurt of panic – she still had to finish the touch ups for the presentation, not to mention she didn't know when Willy wanted to actually give it to them…Crap!

Thinking a light speed, a feat unaccomplished to date due to terminal lack of caffeine, she blurted, "I need to get something out of my studio first."

Monica raised an eyebrow, pausing while she dug through the dresser drawers looking for something appropriate for Veronica to wear. "You've spent enough time in there alone for a while, can't it wait?"

"I'm afraid not. In fact it's critical to my piece of mind. Please?" She begged.

Monica had nodded reluctantly and started to open her mouth to say something, but Veronica was already gone. "Wait!" she shouted belatedly.

Veronica was running at a flat sprint toward the Wonkavators, her bare feet slapping against the cool floor. She dove inside and frantically pressed the buttons to take her to her studio, "Com'on old girl – let's get there in a hurry!" she whispered to the Wonkavator who seemed to be taking far too long to close the glass doors.

The Wonkavator seemed to take the challenge personally as it took off with unprecedented speed, throwing itself around corners and hurtling through the factory leaving a sonic boom in its wake on the long straight stretches. The only thing keeping her from being flattened to the floor in a greasy mess was the purple strap hanging from the ceiling.

She reached the studio in record time, absently patting the door of the Wonkavator in thanks. She grabbed the handle and pushed to go in…

…only to slam into the door when it wouldn't open.

"What the hell?" she growled, slamming her shoulder into the door again in frustration. For a good five minutes she pried at the door, picked at the lock and generally did everything in her power to get the door open. The light was on the security box indicating that there was power to the system, it was as if it no longer recognized her.

A long stream of sulfurous swearing escaped her lips as she drew back her foot to kick the door.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. No shoes, remember?"

She whirled around to see a groggy Willy leave the Wonkavator behind her. He showed a sign of hasty dressing as his shirt wasn't tucked in and the normally constrictive collar was open exposing milky white skin. Willy's boots were unzipped and one leg was tucked into the top of his right boot. The top hat was perched on mussed hair and there was no sign of the jacket. He still wore his purple gloves, but the cuffs of his shirt were rolled back showing lean muscled forearms. His face was unshaven and he blearily staggered over to where she stood by the door.

He looked utterly delicious.

He grabbed the handle of the door and whistled a little of Beethoven's Eighth Symphony and the door popped open. He gestured for her to go in, "Sorry about that. After you passed out, I told Nei-Vil to shut off access unless Charlie or I was with you."

Veronica was stuck between gratitude for his concern and irritation that he felt that she needed a keeper in her own studio. She silently passed him and waited for him to close the door.

"Sorry to disturb you – you look as if you need a few more hours of sleep," she said softly, turning on the equipment to heat and running eyes over the last few ornamentation to ensure nothing had cracked or warped during her time away.

Willy just leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest with a yawn, "I was waking up anyway. The Oompa Loompa have this long drawn-out cleansing ceremony Charlie and I have to get shuffled through before they start their ceremony."

He watched her work, still dressed in her pajamas. The thin cotton shorts were riding low on her hips, the shorts sliding up her muscled legs appealingly every time she moved. The short-sleeved button-up top rising up to show a wide swath of taunt abdominal skin every time she raised her arms above her head – a sight that caused Willy's mouth to water with longing. Her long hair was starting to curl at the ends and fluffed around her face framing the delicate features.

_This is better than what I was dreaming about anyway_, he thought fondly.

"Monica indicated I am to do something similar. I got so wrapped up last night I completely forgot about finishing this before today. I am terribly sorry…" She said, using the soldering iron to fasten a bit of shiny black armor to the piece in front of her.

Willy shrugged and she was momentarily distracted by the movement. He looked so touchable…the formal air he carried was gone and the rumpled clothes from the night before just emphasized his lean body in ways that made her want to drop everything and help him get even more disheveled.

_Focus_! She snapped at herself, for she realized she had frozen with the iron in one hand and was staring at him distractedly.

Veronica applied herself diligently for the next 45 minutes. There was a knock on the door during a particularly delicate operation. Willy answered the murmured question and opened the door to allow Charlie to slip in.

Charlie was startled by Willy's unusual form of dress. The taller man gestured toward the working woman in explaination, "She shot out of her room so fast this morning I didn't get the chance to pull myself together. It doesn't really matter since we're going to get make-over's by the Oompa Loompa a bit later anyway." Willy stifled a yawn with one hand, re-crossing his arms to slump against the wall.

Charlie stopped to admire the view as well - Veronica was doing something that required her to stand on tip-toe to add the piece and the top was riding high and tight across her chest.

Willy noticed and sent a black look his way, **_Mine_**! The look said.

Charlie blushed in apology.

"Is she almost done?" he asked, shivering anew at the sight of the lurking sculpture.

"Actually – come over here for a second to hold this, I need another hand – you too Willy," Veronica commanded. "It won't hold – there's a fault in the seam here and not enough time to re-cast. I'm going to have to do a patch job to make it hold until tonight."

The urgency of the words brought both them both over in a run, she shoved a pair of gloves at Charlie and he pulled them on before gently bracing an outstretched limb.

"Push harder Charlie. Willy, you brace from the other side. I've got to let go to grab the soft-ball," she said. Willy took up the counter-pressure on the other side and she slipped out to grab the small sauce pan off the stove. Using a wooden spoon, she dribbled a quantity onto the marble countertop. She used the spoon to flip and fold the rapidly thickening liquid until she nodded with satisfaction and set the pan down.

To Willy's horror, she started to reach down with her bare hand to what he knew was molten sugar, "Wait!" he yelped.

She ignored him and began kneading the mound with quick gestures – not seemingly affected by the flesh-warping heat. She picked up the small ball in one hand and came toward Charlie. "Willy, could you trade with Charlie? I'm going to work this in around the weakened area, and I'll need you to readjust accordingly while I work."

"Are you alright? Doesn't that hurt?" Charlie asked, seeing the molten sugar in her bare hand.

Veronica looked puzzled for a moment, before her expression cleared with comprehension, "Oh yes. Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you two. Scars, remember? I don't have any sensation on most of the bottoms of my hands and the scarring is very tough there, so I can work with my bare hands where most can't."

Willy traded positions with Charlie in a delicate ballet of movement. Veronica approached him and wormed her way under his supporting arms to start molding the sugar in the area between the limb and the main body of the piece. He found her scantily clad bottom rubbing enticingly against him as she worked. Her smell filled his sensitive nostrils and he had to bite his lip to provide some sort of sensatory distraction.

Her thin hands quickly worked and smoothed the re-applied sugar, thickening it in some areas, just adding a slight supporting layer in others.

She stood, feeling Willy's hot breath upon her shoulder as he held the candy limb. She had felt his reaction to her presence and felt compelled to freeze in place in order not to embarrass them in front of Charlie.

"Okay – let go…slowly….good!" Veronica said in satisfaction, tossing the rest of her molding material into the pot. "It's done."

'Wonderful. Charlie, I want you to go grab one of the super large boxes and about 10 feet of the 6 inch wide red ribbon from the packaging room. We're going to need a flatbed as well, so grab one and bring it back. We need to get this packaged quick and delivered to the Oompa Loompas to open tonight." Willy ordered, resting one hand on her hip. She could feel him trembling.

Charlie bolted off on his errand. As soon as the door shut, Willy grabbed her to twirl Veronica to face him. He didn't hesitate to dive headlong into a heady kiss, pulling her closer frantically.

They staggered back, her back hitting the counter with a muffled grunt, he pressed her back to lean against the surface as he ravaged her lips.

She grabbed him back, hands caressing his firm behind and running fingers through the dark hair with nails scraping his scalp delightfully. Veronica took the opportunity to run her hands up under his shirt to greedily caress the warm bare flesh of his back. She slowly dragged her nails lightly down his spine, making him bow backward and whimper at the contact – she felt a reactionary twitch against her stomach.

"That was just evil. Were you trying to kill me?" he panted, pulling away and pulling her upright to rest his forehead against hers, eyes glimmering with lust.

One hand grazed her bare back under her sleep shirt and she gasped at the contact. The naughty hand traveled up and down her bare back, at one point curving around to – almost - achingly graze against the sides of her sensitive breast. The sounds being wrenched from her throat was sweet music to his ears.

"Hey – I was just trying to work. You were the one driving me mad with all that rubbing," She retaliated brokenly, kissing his stubbly chin, loving they way the course hair rasped against her lips.

There was a knock at the door indicating that Charlie had returned with the promised items.

It was with the greatest reluctance that they parted company for the moment – without uttering a word, they agreed that anything more would lead to activities that would scar Charlie for life if he returned to see them…

…regardless of how much they wanted to or how good it would feel.

Charlie hauled the flatbed in and while he and Willy situated the box on the trolley as she cleaned up the mess made from her work that morning and prepared the sculpture for its move to the box – trying to cool her libido.

The flattened box was centered on the cart; all three of them with careful hands lifted it and placed it in the middle before folding the sides up and sealing the box around it. Veronica watched with apprehension as Willy and Charlie scuttled around the box, ensuring that nothing was crushed or rested against the sides during transportation causing it to break.

Satisfied, Willy nodded at Charlie and they pulled the ribbon up and around to tie the top. One carefully placed finger finished the huge bow and the present was done.

Veronica felt a massive wave of relief and loss with that gesture. The project was now officially done and delivered – it was out of her hands. _This must be what parents feel when their children leave for college_, she reflected. Although she seriously doubted the indifferent attitude most parents would hold toward the prospect of their offspring being devoured by a tribe of pygmies.

Willy opened the door with a flourish and allowed Charlie to wheel the cart outside of the studio. Veronica, after making sure everything was shut off and cleaned up, followed. She yelped as she felt a hand pinch her bottom and she glared at Willy. He looked innocent as he closed the door, but the mischievous gleam in his eye gave him away.

A few of the Oompa Loompa workers looked curiously at their small parade - Willy in his rumpled glory, Veronica in her pajamas and the relatively normal Charlie pushing a large mysterious wrapped package toward the Chocolate Room. What was this? Before long they had a real parade as curious workers followed them.

They entered the Chocolate room, particularly splendid and lush with its increased care. Mic-Ka, Neville and Orville were clustered around a raised platform while sound checks were going on. They turned to see their employer approaching with the cart.

Willy crossed his arms and bowed low to the Chief, Veronica and Charlie followed in suit.

"Chief Mic-Ka. I greet you on this auspicious day celebrating you and your people's great exodus to this new land," Willy said grandly.

"Good day to you and your companions, Won-Ka," Mic-Ka said curiously, handing a roll of blueprints back to Orville. "What is it that we may do for you today?"

"Ah! But it is not what I ask for you to do, but to receive." Willy said, his animated face glowing with happiness. He gestured and Charlie rolled the cart forward. "I would like to give you a gift."

Mic-Ka's eyebrows rose in surprise as well as those of Nei-Vil and the rest of the tribe. He could hear the rising murmer of conversation from the Oompa Loompas present. Won-Ka had already given them so much…

"Won-Ka. As chief of the Oompa Loompa people, I accept your present and thank you for your generosity. You have given us a new life and a brighter future, how are we to accept anything else?" Mic-Ka said, eyes bright with gratitude.

Willy bowed again gracefully, "I present it to you and your people because you are my friends and I wish to celebrate that friendship with you. I thank you – from the bottom of my heart – for restoring my faith in the human race and for helping me in my darkest hour. You are not just my workers – I count you as family."

There was a massive cheer as Willy knelt and extended one finger to shake with the diminutive chief. "What is it?" Mic-Ka whispered to Willy, unheard in the crowd.

"Let's just say it's something I think would fit in better with the ceremonies down in the village rather than here." Willy whispered back. Mic-Ka nodded and gestured toward Orville and Nei-Vil. "Take it down to the village," In the native Oompa Loompa language he whispered to them, "You might want to peek inside and see what it is. Won-Ka thinks it'll work into the ceremonies."

Nei-Vil crossed his arms and bowed, eyes wide, "Sher-Man-Ra was right, Won-Ka does follow his foreseen role without knowing…"

The two Oompa Loompas took the cart and its' contents from the room, followed by the cheering crowd.

The three taller people also found themselves surrounded by a small crowd of irate Oompa Loompas.

"We're supposed to prepare you for the ceremonies and what do you do? You run off on me!" scolded Monica. "Enough of this nonsense – you are coming with me. We'll have to compress the schedule a bit to get you ready in time."

Veronica shot a longing look over her shoulder at Willy as she was nudged at the knees by the persistent little woman. He gave her an apologetic glance as he too was tugged by his pants in the opposite direction, "Sorry – looks like we'll catch up later." His look was just about as forlorn as hers – at this rate she'd never get to spend any time alone with him.

"Great timing, Monica," Veronica grumbled at the Oompa Loompa as they climbed into the Wonkavator to go back to her rooms.

"You're one to talk – if you hadn't been wrapped up in that studio for the last three weeks, you could have been pa-tooking his brains out already," Monica said, unapologetically.

She raised an eyebrow at the little woman, "Pa-Took?"

Monica looked up at her with sheer devilment in her dark eyes, "You know…shag, screw, nail, fu…"

"Thank you – I get it!" Veronica said, blushing wildly – damn Oompa Loompas and their earthy sense of humor.

"You only wish you'd get it now," Monica said, refusing to let her get away that easily. "As it is, you will have to wait until after the ceremonies this evening."

"Monica!" she felt like her head was ready to explode with embarrassment.

Monica laughed, "In either case, put it on the back of the fire for the moment. What we do to prepare you is to cleanse you physically, spiritually and mentally. The performance in the Chocolate Room is just to get you taller folks into the right mind-set. When you attend the ceremonies in the village, you do so as our spiritual avatars – you come as a representative of a set of our beliefs. All actions you carry out reflect that – so preparation is essential."

Veronica pondered the matter as they arrived back at her room and Monica met the team of three other Ooompa Loompa women who would be assisting her. They spoke in the rapid native language and Monica turned to Veronica, "Alright. Strip and get in the tub – we need to give you a good scrubbing with salt and other herbs and oils to prepare you. Ray-Nel will be bringing the rest in a while."

"Scrubbing?" She said, apprehensive – this sounded painful.

"Don't be an infant – go on!" Monica snapped. She sounded so much like her own mother that she obeyed without a second thought. _Must be universal_, she thought.

The next few hours passed in both a blur and with painful boredom. She was scrubbed from head to toe and slathered with some kind of green goo. Then they shoved her into a steam shower to sit for about 10 minutes, smelling vaguely of kelp.

Next came an icy cold deluge that had her yelping and made the small women chuckle with glee. They wrapped her in a cotton robe and went to work on the wild length of hair, combing it out and applying jojoba oil to the long length – meanwhile one woman went to work giving her a pedicure. As Veronica had never had one before she found the experience a bit awkward.

Then came yet another soak, this time in a hot pool scented with flowers, turning her muscles into goo and enabling the women to concentrate on her hands as she soaked. Monica tutted over the ragged nails and hard scars on her hands, only slightly softened by the hot water.

The women hummed as they worked and Veronica found herself drifting. Monica saw this and smiled – their preparations were working. She indicated for Veronica to leave the tub and lay down on a long mat on the floor covered with towels. Veronica sleepily obeyed and as they started to massage oil into her skin, she fell asleep. The women continued to hum while they worked.

Veronica wasn't sure what time it was when she awoke, but her stomach was ravenous and she was light-headed.

"Ah – good! You're up. Time to get dressed and head down to the Chocolate Room, we're about ready to begin," Monica came in, dressed in the Oompa Loompa woman traditional garb, a grass skirt and heavy shell necklace. Her rich brown skin glowed with health and the shiny black hair was bound in a knot that pointed high in the air.

"Will there be anything to eat – I'm starving." Veronica said with a yawn and she rose to her feet and stretched. Her skin felt soft and supple, the long hair up our of her face in some invisible way, although the main body of it still draped down her back in soft waves.

"There will be feasting at the village – you will be able to sip some Po-Ki at the performance to stave off your hunger. Ray-Nel brought your clothing to wear." Monica held up a swath of home-spun unbleached cotton with the consistency of linen.

Veronica slipped into the dress and understood why Monica hadn't offered any underthings to wear. The simple spaghetti straps crossed in the back and the front was draped between her breasts. The back dipped low to drape at the base of her spine – the material was thin enough to show any lines had she tried to wear anything underneath. Still, it was thick enough that it wasn't translucent. The sides were split up to the hips allowing greater leg movement.

Turning to face the mirror – she had to admit that the small women had managed to turn her rough edges into something with a touch more sophistication than she was used to.

Monica ceremoniously presented her with a thick rope of flowers and shells in an intricate pattern. With equal gravity, she accepted and looped the garland around her neck – making her look like some island princess fresh off the boat.

Monica and the women crossed their arms and bowed. In a voice heavy with portent, Monica said, "Ver-Oni-Ka, you have been prepared in accordance with our customs and traditions. Will you join us in the celebration of our exodus from our homeland?"

Veronica returned the gesture – feeling a level of calm and poise drop over her, "Yes. I join you with with a glad heart and an open mind."

It was time for the Exodus Ceremony to begin.


	32. Chapter 32

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Tupik-Ra will be sitting over my shoulder reviewing to ensure accuracy of Oompa Loompa culture here, so thank you ahead of time for your patience. He's a snide little bugger as well. Blame me for the massacre of "American Pie" by Don McLean. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 32**

Veronica and the Oompa Loompa entourage arrived in the Chocolate Room just in time to meet Willy and Charlie as they arrived from their own preparations.

Charlie looked quite handsome in a mandarin-style jacket of the same material as her dress embroidered with dark brown and brown slacks to match. His hair was neatly combed and looked as if it had been trimmed. There was a wreath of white flowers tipped in violet around his neck.

Willy was similarly attired with subtle differences in the embroidery in black with hints of dark purple worked in. His slacks were black and he wore a black top hat adorned with a white band. He carried a cane in shining silver and the other hand oddly enough carried a machete. His hands were clad in his favorite purple latex gloves.

Willy and Charlie were taken aback at Veronica's appearance. The simple dress draped her spare form elegantly and the lack of ornamentation was offset by the elaborate lei around her neck. She seemed to be a little self-conscious about how she looked and Willy found her embarrassment endearing.

Veronica looked to the large blade in its leather sheath in Willy's hand with an unanswered question.

At her raised eyebrow, he answered, "They asked me to bring it. Don't ask me what for. Maybe there's going to be a really big cake in need of cutting."

The Chocolate Room had a large center stage set in the center with large pillows along the front. The rest of the Buckets were already seated – having bypassed the elaborate preparation that Willy, Charlie and Veronica had been through to simply wear their finest clothes. They were being served bite-sized food on leaves and skewers and sipped drinks from crudely carved wooden cups.

Willy and Veronica were guided to their seats in the middle of the collection and Charlie took the seat in between Willy and his parents. Veronica smiled a greeting to Grandpa Joe who was on her other side. Grandpa George leaned forward from his seat on the end to shout down, "Hey Wonka! These little beggers really know how to throw a party!"

Grandpa Joe leaned forward to whisper, "Please excuse him. The punch is quite alcoholic and quite powerful."

Willy raised an eyebrow and smiled uncertainly, unsure how to respond to the drunken call, "Thank you. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

Veronica eagerly snagged a skewer with what looked like chicken satay and dug in, stomach growling. Three more followed in short order before her hunger was slightly abated. She was licking her fingers when Willy's expression caught her eye. He was staring at her with a hungry light of his own darkening his eyes.

"I'm starving," she offered apologetically. Willy smiled and offered some pineapple and strawberry on a skewer in her direction. Never breaking eye contact, she leaned over and gently used her teeth to pull the ripe red strawberry off the end and sucked it slowly into her mouth.

Willy's throat bobbed several times and perspiration broke out on his forehead.

She gently steadied his hand with her own as she made her way down the impaled chunks of fruit, enjoying the rich texture and flavor of each, before using the tip of her tongue to catch a few drops of juice that rested on the now trembling fingers.

She licked her lips, removing the rest of the juices and smirked at the stricken expression on Willy's face, "Thank you."

"You are evil." He groaned, closing his eyes and having to dig uglier graphic images out of his mental vault to control his arousal.

"That was mean, dear." Charlie's mother said in a low voice, leaning across her red-faced son, "Well done."

Clara Bucket shot a heated look at her husband, who at this point strongly resembled his son, "Some fruit, love?"

Veronica took a sip of her own drink and found it quite powerfully laced with rum. Snacking on a few more of the juicy niblets on a stick, she leaned over to Willy, "So what happens now? Where is everyone?"

Willy was about to reply when the lights to the room cut off as did their incidental chatter. A single spotlight blinked on the middle of the stage to reveal Neville dressed in the Oompa Loompa warrior finest – woven grass skirt with a band of what looked like teeth of some small animal in a band around his muscular arm. Another necklace of such teeth adorned his neck and he wore a feather headdress. In his hand with a sharp pear tipped with shiny black stone – probably obsidian.

A rhythmic beat began to fill the room from a multitude of cleverly hidden drums – the beat was primal…driving…familiar. Veronica furrowed her brow. _Had they ripped off her I-pod_?

A troop of Oompa Loompa warriors in traditional dress began to swing and thrust their spears in synchronized movements, loosening muscles and showing the range of offensive and defensive postures.

As the music quickened, so did their movements – two of the more skilled warriors faced off and began to spar to the music – the lightning quick movements and obvious sharp weapons causing her breath to catch in her throat from fear and excitement.

There was a mass exercise drill again then two more warriors faced off, taking the mock fight to new levels by including flying, bounding kicks and ducks with the slash and thrust of the spears. After a particularly nimble move, they all gasped and broke out into spontaneous applause.

The warriors bowed and moved off the stage while the music mellowed and a strong chord from guitars rose. The lights centered on the stage began to warm up and change color, showing a wide variety of Oompa Loompas in various poses with potted trees and bushes as background, but it was Neville who started to sing along with the guitars. Veronica's eyes widened as she recognized the tune as "American Pie" by Don McLean.

"_A long, long time ago…_

_In a land so far away_

_We Oompa Loompas live in fear."_

The Oompa Loompas in the background moved to indicate running for their lives, ducking under the leaves to hide.

"_For you see we are quite small_

_And were hunted by huge creatures all_

_Who considered us quite the yummy snack."_

Several of Oompa Loompas were in costume in strange and vicious looking ways, long claws and teeth threatening the cowering Oompa Loompas. Several on wires buzzed over, one or two grabbing partners "hiding" under the simulated bushes to be carried off into the surrounding darkness.

_Fighting them was too ambitious_

_We're too darn juicy and delicious_

_We'd run away and hide in fear_

_From every growl and snarl we'd hear._

_So many were lost to our dismay,_

_Our tribe was shrinking every day,_

_For salvation we would pray…_

_And then we met this man…._

A tall figure strode out of the darkness – everyone froze at the appearance of this stranger. As the lights came up, they were able to see that it was a tall man with Oompa Loompa features dressed in one of Willy's natty outfits. He grinned at his audience and readjusted the borrowed clothes with a deft tug.

"Little buggers have been going through my drawers," Willy grumbled as Charlie and the Buckets cracked up at the pseudo-Willy. Whatever he had given the Oompa Loompas who worked on her original studio back at her apartment building, this Oompa Loompa had taken for the role of their employer.

"You'd better just hope that he's not wearing your drawers," Veronica said, covering her quivering lips at the horrified expression that spasmed across Willy's face.

Neville continued with the chorus of the song, ignoring the rude commentary.

"_Bye, bye Loompaland, dear farewell_

_It's been something – see you later_

_Yeah, it's really been swell._

_We leave you behind, 'cus it's been nothing but hell_

_We're out of here to make some history_

_At Willy Wonkas Chocolate factory."_

The tall Oompa Loompa came over and bowed to Willy before taking the machete that rested by his side, "Excuse me. I need to borrow this."

"_This great big man who blundered by_

_And made a Swangdoodle die_

_With a mighty snicker-snack."_

A few of the candy kites, made over to resemble large fierce looking insects swooped out of the darkness to carry off new victims. The pseudo-Willy stepped forward and with a clean sweep of the machete, severed the black lines that connected the kites to the ceiling. It crashed to the floor and broke apart with satisfying violence. A few of the surrounding Oompa Loompas cheered wildly at the sight.

"_In gratitude we dare did bring_

_Our giant friend to meet our king_

_To share his tale and try our food_

_(He didn't hurl - man what a Dude!)"_

Mic-Ka sat on a platform to confer with the pseudo-Willy and he mimed handing a bowel of some nasty-looking gelatinous green slime to the man. The Pseudo-Willy took a sip and made the most horrendous face possible for a human being to make without dislocating something.

"It really did taste that bad." Willy muttered at her.

Neville glared at the commentary, but continued.

"_He learned our plight and did invite_

_Us to join him on that very night_

_At his home across the world…_

…_away from our extinction peril"_

The Oompa Loompas continued with their wild dance involving intricate choreography and well-placed stunts. Veronica wished that Reggie could see this – the level of timing and skill would be enough to make him weep with joy…

…maybe on the other hand it was a good thing he wasn't here.

"_We traveled with him across the sea_

_Finding a home and a future free_

_Of threats to life and a place to grow_

_Beyond the life we once would know_

Tupik-Ra, Sher-Man-Ra, Dev-On and others came to line up behind the Wonka figure – their professional demenor giving weight to the progress that the Oompa Loompas had made since leaving their homeland.

"_The years they passed and things they changed_

_Won-ka's factory grew and re-arranged_

_Charlie came and now he's the heir_

_Our future's set for he's kind and fair"_

Willy and Charlie exchanged a wide grin and Willy ruffled Charlie's hair fondly.

"_More taller people came with us to stay_

_And we won't have it any other way_

_For one captured our employer's heart_

_Now nothing…will tear them apart."_

Veronica felt Willy's hands take her own and she shot him a glance to confirm that his cheeks were burning as brightly as hers.

"Well done, Wonka!" Grandpa George roared, holding his now empty drink aloft as a toast as Grandma Josephine tried to quiet him.

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket were smiling and clapping their hands cheering.

"That's lovely," said Grandma Georgina, "Little hearts and birdies all around."

The music rose into a crescendo and everyone joined in on the chorus this time.

"_Bye, bye Loompaland, dear farewell_

_It's been something – see you later_

_Yeah, it's really been swell._

_We leave you behind, 'cus it's been nothing but hell_

_We're out of here to make some history_

_At Willy Wonkas Chocolate factory."_

Massive cheers filled the Chocolate Room and the seated group jumped to their feet clapping their hands and cheering as wildly as any other Oompa Loompa.

Mic-Ka stood on his platform and bowed to the group, "To you Won-Ka and your heir and guest, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts."

They returned to the gesture and more music broke out, the performance degrading into a dance contest and general party. Veronica felt a tug and looked down to see Monica trying to get her attention, "It is time for you to follow me down to the village."

Willy slipped his arm around her waist and helped lead her after Monica, weaving through the crowds of Oompa Loompa dancing around her feet. She saw several stacked on top of each other to reach up to Grandma Josephine, managing a decent waltz. Grandpa Joe was chatting with several clustered around holding the crude cups. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket were holding each other close and swaying gazing deeply into each other's eyes. Grandpa George was sitting on the cushion, watching the acrobatics with bright eyes and making rude comments to several elderly looking Oompa Loompas who laughed.

The corridor outside the Chocolate Room was strangely quiet compared to the ruckus inside. The floor felt cool under her slippered feet and the only noise was the soft tap of Willy and Charlie's boots as they made their way down to the Wonkavator.

Willy scuttled up to pop next to her as they walked, worming one hand into her own. "Were you too embarrassed?" Willy asked concerned. "I didn't know they were going to do that – they're really quite mischievous."

She smiled up at him and placed a quick peck on his cheek, "No, it's alright. It just feels so new. I'm still getting used to the idea myself."

He grinned down at her and moved forward to plant a kiss on her waiting lips when Monica interrupted, "Oy – you two! None of that - you can wait until after the ceremony. We didn't purify you just to have you mess things up before you even get there."

She and Charlie laughed at the offended expressions shot her way. The Wonkavator arrived and they stepped inside, Monica making sure to place herself and the gangly Charlie in between them to avoid any "incidental" contact.

Charlie just grinned at the frustrated expression on Willy's face and moved closer to Veronica just to see the annoyed expression shot his way. Veronica grinned at the byplay and enjoyed aggravating the situation by casually draping an arm around Charlie's shoulders. Willy coughed genteelly, glaring at his apprentice with jealousy. Charlie retaliated by meeting his mentor's eyes and slipping an arm around her waist.

Willy growled, gloves squeaking angrily on his cane.

"Children! Behave yourselves – don't make me turn this thing around," Monica warned, laughter softening her threat. Charlie and Veronica slipped apart, laughing.

"I wasn't aware that Oompa Loompas had turned into such prudes," Willy said, studying the ceiling with affected nonchalance, resting both hands on the shining cane.

"We're not – but this is a special case."

"But if we are acting as avatars, and the avatars wish to share a kiss – who are we to argue?" He wheedled, trying to move closer to Veronica.

"Ah, Won-Ka – you are but a newcomer to our ways. We are not prudes, but we do hold our traditions sacred. If you wish to protest, I will be happy to tell you to stuff it where the sun does not shine." Monica huffed. "We've worked far too long to have your hormones interfere now."

Veronica choked at a laugh at the outraged expression on Willy's face. Charlie had to turn his belly laughs into a sudden eruption of coughing as Willy glared at him.

They arrived at the small wooden door that led to the village. Monica turned to them, suddenly all business. "Please remove your hat and shoes here. Sher-Man-Ra has sanctified the ground beyond this point and no shoes are allowed.

They hastened to obey. Veronica simply toed off the slippers revealing freshly polished toenails. _Huh, I don't remember that. Must have been while I was out._

Willy unzipped and removed his boots revealing slim white feet with strong arches and long toes to the open air. He tucked the hat and shoes next to the door and awaited Monica's next instruction.

Monica kicked Charlie's shoes to the opposite side and removed a small stick from a box by the door and struck a light with the miniature lighter to the end releasing a fragrant smoke into the air. She circled the group, waving the smoke around and mumbling under her breath in Loompish.

Willy waved one glove-clad hand to clear the smoke around his face. Veronica just coughed and Charlie blew the smoke to one side.

Monica dropped the extinguished incense stick and pushed open the door, "Welcome to our village."

The tall trees stretched overhead and soft loam was under their bare feet. Veronica was struck once more at the miracle that Willy had brought about, bringing the vast expanses of this tropic rainforest under a factory roof. It still startled her the range of strange and wonderful rooms in this magical place – and the motivating force driving it all – the man himself.

There was a glass ceiling overhead that allowed fading sunlight to fill the cavernous room lighting motes of dust and insects that swirled through the air. Bird calls and singing insects added a rich cacophony to the atmosphere while high temperatures and humidity made their clothes stick to their bodies. She could see now why the fabric choice a necessity.

Up toward the tree-tops, the round woven huts of the Oompa Loompas clustered like strange fruit, lit from within and decorated with flowers.

Monica led them through the twisted undergrowth to the gathering of Oompa Loompas in the center of the village. Barring the number up in the Chocolate Room, Veronica had to wonder how many there really were, as the large crowd cleared to let them through.

Three chairs side by side and the present, still gaily wrapped, rested on a platform. Torches surrounded the area, warmly illuminating the dark shadows. A the far end where the crowd and chairs face was the tall podium where Mic-Ka stood. He had somehow beat them back down from the Chocolate Room and waited with a serious expression on his face.

"Greetings Won-Ka, Ver-Oni-Ka and Char-Li. We thank you for coming. Most of our ceremony will be recited in Loompish, so forgive us this indulgence. Any portion that requires your response or words will be recited in English so that you might understand what we ask of you."

Willy nodded and they took their seats, ready for the ceremony. Veronica felt somewhat apprehensive. This was an important function and she didn't want to let anyone down or offend them. Charlie saw her wiping her nervous hands on the skirt of her dress and gave her an encouraging smile.

"We begin." Mic-Ka said in a deep resounding voice.

First was a group of young men who stepped forward. Sher-Man-Ra in his primitive finery, placed a stylized mask over his face and submitted a long string of questions to the men, they answered in their native tongue before the Shaman presented them with a bowl of the same gelatinous green slime from the show up above. The men controlled their reaction and the crowds clapped and cheered as each were daubed with red and white paint.

"Manhood Ceremony – these are kids who are getting ready to leave the village to come work up in the factory, "Willy explained with a wry smile. "Apparently the crushed green caterpillars they used to subside on are now only used during this ceremony." He shot a look at Mic-Ka who shrugged, "They say it is a test of bravery to eat the goop is similar to what I give them to test in the Invention Room. Yeah, like I'd give them anything that horrible to eat – all my inventions are tasty-good." Willy primped for a moment.

"Two words," said Charlie, "Broccoli flavoring"

Willy slumped, "Oh…yeah."

The next ceremony was flourished by a swell of drums, leading to at least half of the tribe to break out into dancing. The women clustered around the fire while the men surrounded them. A group of women pulled Veronica from her seat and into the dancing around the fire. Laughing, she let her body swing and flow, quickly learning the steps from the tiny surrounding figures.

Charlie was not surprised to see Willy mysteriously at her antics. Willy allowed himself to be pulled by a group of the men to join the frey surrounding the dancing women. He too quickly mastered the steps and was dancing with the men, watching Veronica intensely. Her eyes were drawn to him as well and their movements slowed and moved with more sensual intent.

Charlie just thought the dancing looked like fun and was climbing to his feet to join in when a bemused Mic-Ka pushed on his knee, indicating for him to re-take his seat, "This is not for you Char-Li. Next year, you will join our young warriors in the Manhood Ceremony, but it will be a few years yet before you are ready to join this one."

Charlie watched the two tall figures moving with each other – a promise in their eyes.

"What's this ceremony? He asked, confused. Only a few other couples were moving together with the same intentful look.

Mic-Ka's smile was deep with knowledge, "Courtship."

Soon the dance was over and the crowd cheered and moved away – the couples who had connected taking their partner by the hand and resuming their seats.

Veronica gasped and wiped her head, "That was fun – kinda like a club."

Willy said nothing, but waggled his eyebrows at Charlie making him laugh.

The next ceremony was a performance. Veronica followed as best she could, the hand gestures and movements all indicated high significance, but she was soon lost. Stylized masks and costumes told a story and she followed – soon making up her own tale to match the movements.

Willy seeing her confusion and Charlie's boredom, leaned over with a whispered explanation, "They're telling the story of how the ancient Oompa Loompas came to the island. The ones in the sun and moon mask represent the deities, the ones in the animal masks are the forces of nature they battled to establish the tribe."

"What is the blank mask?" she whispered back. The mask in question was menacing the actors that seem to portray the original settlers to the island.

"Death."

"And the half-smile and half-frown? Theater?" Charlie asked.

"That is their most powerful force of all – serendipity," Willy said with an odd smile.

The tale continued for an hour, and even the most dedicated Oompa Loompa was sagging as they reached the end. This seemed to signal a break while everyone replaced their refreshments. Soon, everyone fell silent and looked expectantly up at the Chief on his podium.

Mic-Ka spoke, "Won-Ka. Our part of this tale is done. What the future holds is unseen and we ask you for a few words to share with us."

Willy stood and stretched, "Thank you Mic-Ka."

He turned to face the crowd of his workers, lifting the shining cane in one hand and projecting his voice, "My friends. As today marks the anniversary of your long years in this land. I wanted to present you with something that shows your passage from the old to the new."

Willy motioned for Veronica and Charlie to rise.

"For many eons, you have suffered under the hunt of those who would prey upon you. Those horrible creatures who feasted upon your flesh and took the lives of your loved ones. I took you under my protection from such threats and now offer you something to show how strong you've grown."

He indicated for Veronica to pull the draping ribbon from the large box resting on the platform.

Yanking the ribbon, the bow unfurled and the sides of the box dropped open.

"I give you your fears to conquer," she said in a rich feminine voice, projected as loud as she dared.

There were screams from the crowd as the contents were revealed.

Black insect armor reflected the light wetly and iridescent color ranged from deep emerald green to greasy midnight. Spiked legs barbed with cruel thorns were raised threateningly toward the crowd as burning yellow eyes gleamed with cruel intentions. The whole thing was massive, standing hip high on a normal person, but loomed over the heads of the small people with predatory interest. Large delicately webbed wings arched high into the air, seeming to tremble in the firelight. It looked ready to pounce.

Willy stood calmly as the cries of his workers reached him. Charlie looked in apprehension between the panicked faces and his mentor.

Warriors swarmed forward with their spears - ready to defend the tribe from the danger that had appeared in their midst.

Veronica stood silently, her eyes and hair lit by the torches, making her countenance flicker with something more than human to their frightened eyes. She was Kai-Li, the great destroyer – mother of the world.

"I give you your strength...I give you your hopes...I give you the resolve to face the dark shadows of your past and face them in this new world," she said – shooting Willy a knowing look. She was sharing not just her work, but what Willy's love had given her.

Willy smiled back at her, eyes full of understanding and joy. He handed Charlie the cane and the trembling youth approached the ominous creature.

"Death to the Schnozwhanger!" Charlie cried, bringing the cane down with savage force upon one outstretched limb.

The limb shattered like glass. The Oompa Loompas paused at the revelation that this was not their Great Enemy descending upon them once more. The warriors approached with a howl and Veronica was forced to step back out of the range of the deadly little spears as they attacked the sculpture.

She reclaimed her place by Willy's side and eagerly took the proffered hand. She was shaking with fear and pride in her work. It wasn't everyday she was happy to see such a bloodthirsty mob.

Mic-Ka gave a loud undulating cry that froze the warriors in their tracks.

"We accept this present, let every man woman and child have the chance to strike a blow and reclaim that which our fear has robbed us." He said in his deep resonate voice.

Sher-Man-Ra lifted his medicine mask and picked up a fist-sized chunk of the sculpture that had fallen at the base of the platform. He sniffed and tentatively tasted it. "It's eatable – let us devour it as he and his ilk have devoured us!" He called excitedly.

The Oompa Loompa fell upon the statue in a gleefully murderous rage. The music started up and the tribe began to dance, milling around the statue as it crumbled under the repeated blows. There was laughing and loud talk as they gathered the pieces and distributed them to anyone who wanted one. There were happy cries as they ate, finally able to let go of the lingering fear of the vicious creatures that hunted them.

Mic-Ka nodded to the taller people watching the destruction, "You have surpassed yourself, Won-Ka."

Willy shrugged and rested his hands on the reclaimed cane, "I just came up with the concept – I left the execution to Veronica."

"Creator and Destroyer," Mic-Ka said. Things became clear now. "So she joins us exorcising her demons by creating one of ours – which we in turn destroy."

"Something like that."

Mic-Ka turned to Veronica and bowed with profound respect, "Ver-Oni-Ka – there is nothing that we will not do for you, that you have not already done for us." The small man raised his voice, "Ver-Oni-Ka! We name you friend and sister to the tribe! Hatua Lo Nomaka!"

There was a loud cheer and small hands patted her legs in congratulations.

Mic-Ka nodded and moved away from them. She felt Willy's arm creep around her waist from behind, "This pretty much wraps up the ceremony – nothing else we can come up with is going to top this." He whispered in her hear. His lips placed a small kiss on the outer shell of her ear and she shivered.

She enjoyed swaying with him, wrapped in his arms while they watched the action around them. Veronica saw Charlie break dancing around the fire with a crew of young warriors oblivious to his audience.

Willy breathed deeply, his nose tickled by the oils she was wearing as well as her own natural scent. She was warm in his arms and the light dress moved smoothly against her skin. She arched back against him and turned her head to place a light kiss on the underside of his jaw. Not content with that, he claimed her lips in a heated caress of his own.

He turned her in his arms and broke away to stare down at her for a long moment, wanting to remember this moment for the rest of his life. Lightly kissing her once more, he let go and guiding her from the short crowd by the hand, exiting the circle of light.

Willy walked rapidly down the path toward the door to the factory, he grinned with devilish delight over his shoulder, "It's going to be noisy for a while and I know Charlie won't miss us. Let's boogie!"

Veronica grinned back, her eyes full of love and promise.

As they exited the room, an impromptu race broke out. She neglected her shoes to bolt directly for the Wonkavator as Willy yelped in protest as he lunged to grab his hat before pursuing her.

Bare feet pounded down the corridor and she glanced back over her shoulder to see Willy clinging to the hat on his head and cane in one hand as he ran. He too neglected to put on his shoes, so he was making better time due to better traction.

She pumped her legs harder, leaning into her stride, the dress was flipping up, threatening to expose more than she was comfortable with.

Willy drew abreast, and with a saucy smile as the Wonkavator came into sight, suddenly passed her in a burst of speed.

He turned his head to yell over his shoulder, "Last one in is a rotten…"

He slammed into the closed glass doors with a resounding crash. He rebounded to hit the floor with great force, eyes rolling in his head, "…egg."

"Willy!" Veronica cried, sliding to a stop and dropping to her knees to cradle his head in her lap. She brushed the mussed hair aside to examine him with a frightened expression. There was a good sized knot on the left side of his head, dazed violet eyes looked back up at her.

"Willy? What hurts? Are you dizzy?" she exclaimed, trying to make sure his eyes were dilating. She held up her hand with two fingers extended. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Willy blinked up at her, expression guileless, "Five."

"Five?!"

"Yeah, two raised, two down and technically the thumb does not count as a finger – although I normally would…" he babbled, only to be cut off by her grateful lips.

Veronica helped him to his feet, collecting the battered hat and cane from where they landed. She draped his arm across her shoulders and the helped the concussed man to the Wonkavator.

"Let's get some ice for that knot – you should probably lay down too…" she said concerned that he seemed to be more knocked for a loop than he normally was during a collision.

Willy nodded and pressed the button to his room.

_Great start_, he grouched feeling his head throb.


	33. Chapter 33

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Thank you everyone for your patience and hope you enjoy. – Stealth Phoenix_

_WARNING: ADULT CONTENT AHEAD – IF SEXUAL MATTERS BOTHER YOU, GO ELSEWHERE! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!_

**Chapter 33**

As the Wonkavator traveled, Willy closed his eyes and felt the world spinning around him. Veronica was a steady source of strength at his side, centering him as he felt like he was trapped on a tilt-a-whirl. It was hard to say if it was the small amount of punch he allowed himself, or the jolt to his skull.

He breathed deeply and concentrated on the warm flesh beneath his limp arm. Strong slender shoulders, delicate collarbone under light ivory skin dotted with sparse golden freckles. The dress had shifted slightly during the run and the top now hung lower showing more of her delightful rounded breasts and that succulent valley between them.

He remembered the brief glimpse he had of her running before he crashed. Those long pale legs working hard, the skirt riding up high on her thighs. Veronica's face had been flushed and laughing green eyes shimmered with gold like sunlight sparkling on Caribbean water with the long light auburn flowing hair whipping behind her like smoke drifting on the breeze.

"Willy?" she asked in a low voice.

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to be alright?" worry darkened her tone and he opened his eyes to regard the woman holding him up.

"This is nothing. Just a bit of ice and a break and I'll be right as rain," he tried to smile convincingly at her.

Apparently it looked a bit forced since her face showed doubt and she fell silent.

They arrived and he managed to take most of his weight off her and together they staggered down the short hall to the large imposing dark wood door with ornate handle. Willy released her to grasp the door handle in one hand and whistled the chorus to Bach's "Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring." The door clicked open and Willy pushed it open enough to allow them to slip in.

Willy's room was comfortably furnished with large walnut wood furniture and a large colorful Persian rug on a plain stone dark grey floor. A cheery fire lit the room and the last light of the setting sun overhead glowed through the large stained glass window.

Veronica itched to explore the room a bit more, but her concern for Willy won out. She set the hat on the side table by the door and put the cane in the stand next to it before looking around trying to find something to make into a cold compress.

He flopped onto a settee by the fire with a groan, "There's ice in the bucket by the sink."

She quickly found the small basin and bucket set on a shelf next to various toiletry items. She took a rich red hand towel and dumped some of the clear ice melting gently in the bucket inside. Wrapping it up, she returned to where Willy lay draped on the settee.

"Sit up for a second," she said in her low voice. Willy complied and she took a seat behind him and gently pressed him back so that his head rested in her lap. She placed the ice pack softly on the purpling knot on his forehead. He hissed in pain, but relaxed and allowed the cold to start easing his throbbing head.

"Poor baby," she crooned, stroking his head while holding the ice bag.

Willy drifted, settling into a light doze as her hand stroked his hair. His muscles relaxed and he could again, smell that distinct scent that was the unadorned Veronica – something light and floral without being attached to any particular flower or fruit.

Veronica took the opportunity to study the room further. The furniture was of a soft curving style somewhere between Art Nouveau or Victorian. The bed was a hulking monstrosity with gorgeous detailed ornamentation resembling leaves and vines curling up to the canopy. It was covered with brushed Egyptian cotton in an incredibly comfortable looking feather duvet in the rich red that Willy preferred with numerous pillows in a light golden color.

She saw a variety of books on shelves bracketing the fireplace - topics ranging from history, to chemistry and physics, to sci-fi and fantasy. Veronica squinted, trying to read titles from across the room when she felt Willy's hand run up her arm in a light stroking gesture.

"Thank you," He said softly, opening his eyes to gaze up at her.

"No problem. Better?"

He nodded and sat up to face her, taking the ice pack to set in a warming pan by the fire. Willy stroked the long hair away from her face and cupped her cheek.

His lips were warm and supple as they caressed hers; he tasted of mulled wine and something darker and richer like good dark chocolate. The tension between them ratcheted up a notch as he tasted her – the velvet texture of his tongue rubbing against her maddeningly.

Gently, he stroked her hair and watched her reaction – seeing her eyes flare and breathing quicken. Willy could feel her starting to tremble under his hands. Passion warred with fear – and although her body seemed to be begging for more, he paused.

He could tell the sudden freedom to proceed if she wished warred with the self-preservation instincts refined since the attack and the last thing he wanted to do was push for more if she wasn't ready…

…Especially since he wasn't sure he was either.

Bob was trying to push to the forefront of his mind, but Willy held his subconscious in check for now.

"Veronica, nothing is going to happen here that you don't want to," he breathed, stroking her soft cheek with his thumb.

She held the hand cupping her face, biting her lip in apprehension, "I know – I trust you, but the fear is still there. I want this … I want you. "

Willy nodded, swallowing hard with her words. He struggled with his desire for a moment before replying in a rough voice, "We can take our time – there is no hurry."

She focused on her breathing, of the feel of his strong arm against her fingertips, of the heat he seemed to radiate – the subtle tension in his body as he controlled his reaction in order not to frighten her.

"Willy. It has been a very long time…" she whispered, the shaking increasing slightly.

He drew her close and simply hugged her, feeling the spasms rock her body. They stayed that way for a long time, watching the fire burn merrily in the fireplace. Finally, the shaking subsided and she was able to continue, "I haven't…been…with anyone in more than a decade." She admitted, ashamed of her inexperience.

He continued to stroke her hair, ignoring her shame, concentrating on soothing her fear.

"Like I have? I love the Oompa Loompa – just not that way."

She laughed as he hoped she would and he leaned back to look at her, "Even before then…I'm…I'm not exactly…well, what you would call…highly experienced…either."

Feeling a bit braver, she asked, "But some experience?"

He blushed fetchingly and studied her hands, "Some."

She sighed and he could feel her body tense, "For me? Not since…him."

Willy sighed and looked at her with great sadness in his eyes, "After that…no wonder." He paused again, "I love you. Nothing will change that. Even if we decide that we never…"

"But I do want to," Veronica interrupted, the color high on her cheeks, "It's just going to take a little while for me to … relax enough to…"

_He was so sweet_, she thought. He was sitting here holding her, obviously ready to proceed and he was giving her a way out. She mentally slammed the door on her burgeoning fear, refusing to let it mar what could be a beautiful experience. Determined, she looked up at Willy, eyes clearing of confusion.

He nodded and leaned forward with an eiderdown soft kiss. "I can take as long as you need, my love."

Shyly, she slid her hands from his body down his arms to where the gloves bet his wrist, "May I?"

He could only nod and watch, throat dry and tight, heart pounding heavily in his chest as she slowly removed the gloves, one finger at a time before rolling them from his wrist. She tossed the gloves to join the ice pack in the copper warming pan. She held his slightly trembling hands in hers, examining the soft palms and fingers, exploring the terrain of creases with one delicate finger. The hands twitched as she lightly stroked the palms.

Then with eyes full of knowledge of what she was starting, she raised one to her mouth and after letting her breath warm the cool flesh, kissed the palm of his hand keeping her eyes locked on his the whole time.

The violet eyes went dark and wild as he tentatively caressed her face, the palm resting on her cheek, the thumb tracing the full line of her lips. The sensation of her soft lips on his naked flesh was sending little electric shocks down his spine and he found that breathing was becoming a chore.

Seeing that he was letting her set the pace, she smiled coyly and opened her lips to take the digit into her mouth. Willy gasped as he felt her small teeth nibble lightly on his thumb. Veronica sucked strongly, using her tongue to caress him and he groaned as the sensation shot straight to his groin.

Feeling that it was not fair for her to be doing all the work, he leaned forward to kiss her again, seeking entrance to her warm mouth – his tongue twining around hers like ivy climbing a wall. He pulled her toward him, reclining back to rest against the arm of the settee, desperately seeking a way to climb through the kiss and into her.

Comforted that he allowed her to remain unpinned, she groaned as his hands compulsively clutched at her, the bare hand sliding up the exposed flesh of her back, gliding under the straps of the dress as if trying to memorize her through his fingertips. She mentally thanked the Oompa Loompas for their insight into fashion design as she was able to part her legs to straddle him. Her damaged hands skimmed through the dark hair – the sides of her fingers telling her that it felt like heavy silk.

Not satisfied, she reached down to deftly unbutton the high collar of the jacket to reveal the smooth column of his throat. She softly kissed his lips followed the line of his jaw down to the tender beat of the carotid artery fluttering under the milky skin. He could only gasp at the sensation of the wet tip of her tongue following that line down to where it joined with his shoulder. She sucked on the exposed throat – feeling him tense under her, pressing his rousing member up against her intimately before she returned up to what she knew were sensitive earlobes to suckle and make him shake with repressed lust.

_It was empowering to render this man into this speechless creature of blind need_, Veronica thought sat back and looked at Willy, his eyes wide and dark with passion. His restless hands slid down to cup her bottom, fingers delicately tracing the line of her flesh as it disappeared under the rising hem of her dress. She whimpered at the teasing sensation. Thrusting lightly, he deliberately rubbed up against her, his sensitive nose telling him of her growing arousal. Smiling slightly, he sat up, his breath caressing the long line of her throat. Strong fingers ran up and down her exposed legs, thumbs barely brushing the line of muscle that separated inner from outer thigh. The indirect contact had her rearing back, gasping at the intensity of sensation washing over her.

Her busy fingers meanwhile had unbuttoned the jacket all the way down revealing the strong lines of his midsection lightly peppered with dark hair. His small nipples were dark brown and the chest strong without the obvious over exaggeration brought about by time at the gym.

Veronica felt him tense under her as she ran her hands up the exposed skin. He looked up at her with a touch of apprehension in those marvelous eyes. "Um…I know I'm not…you know…built or anything…" Willy stuttered, squirming slightly at her light touch.

She smiled warmly down at him, her green-gold eyes sparking like gems in the firelight, "Thank goodness. I wouldn't want you any other way. You're perfect the way you are."

Moving carefully, she pushed back to slide down the long legs and bent from her waist to kiss his shoulder, collarbone, and down his chest – exploring his personal topography. He smelled fresh and clean and the sweet scent of peanut brittle faded into something muskier - something uniquely him. She'd be able to identify him by that rich personal scent blindfolded and in a dark room.

He groaned and arched up, feeling her tongue stroke him, tracing the lines of his pectorals and down the thin line of hair that ran down to his beltline.

Willy groaned brokenly and looked at her with wide amazed eyes, "Veronica!"

He retaliated by abruptly sitting up to attack the juncture of her neck and shoulder with his tongue and teeth, she felt like she couldn't catch her breath from the intense arousal jabbing through her. Willy's fingers found the thin straps to her dress and with a questioning look, he started to guide them down her shoulders.

Veronica's trembling increased for a moment as the dress slid down to reveal her aching breast to her lover's eyes. She braced herself, waiting for the inevitable grabbing, but he just held her eyes, not looking away until she calmed again and relaxed under his loving gaze. Only then would he allow himself the luxury of taking in this beautiful sight.

The pale skin of her body gleamed in the firelight; she looked like some debauched goddess rising above him, small breast high and tight, rosy nipples hard with desire. He was suddenly intensely thankful to Victor Brahm for being such a ridiculous bastard. If it hadn't been for him, she never would have started down this path to end up here and now in his arms.

Willy kissed her hard, running his hands over the now exposed lines of her back and curving around to caress her ribs before slowly and ever so carefully touching the soft newly exposed skin.

Veronica cried out at the contact – her breasts had always been especially sensitive. Willy's soft hands held her like fine glass, and the curious fingers played with her hardened nipples. She ground down harder, frantic for more stimulation even as her mind was screaming that it was all too much. He grunted with surprise and she felt the reactionary twitch against her moistening center.

They pulled together then, as if any space between them was outlandish and wrong. Her tender breast crushing against his exposed chest almost made him swoon – so instead he concentrated on her smell, her taste, the visual extravaganza that was this woman writhing against him.

Realizing that their explorations had taken them to the limit of what was capable on the settee, Willy rallied what little blood remained to his brain to formulate the words that would take them to the next step.

"Bed?" he growled in a voice he scarcely recognized as his own.

She looked at him strangely for a moment, her grasp of English escaping her as her passions rose – then she realized what he was asking and nodded vigorously, "Bed," Veronica agreed.

Rather than simply standing and moving away, she elected to help him pull himself upright and wrapped her strong legs around his waist, the motion driving her closer to him with a cry as he stood. Anything else was unthinkable at this point. She clung to his neck, whimpering at the movement against her center – almost crying at the frantic need to feel more. Veronica suddenly hated the thin layers of clothing that still barely separated them – the friction was driving her mad.

Willy stood, hands cupping her bottom, knees wobbling for a moment before striding to the bed in four easy steps. Veronica took the opportunity to push away the hated jacket – hands greedy for more exposed flesh. He allowed her to support her weight, legs locked around his waist as he helped push the jacket off and to the floor.

His bare fingers pushed the skirt up further, gliding along the long muscles of her thighs tight around his waist to ease under the hem to follow the line of her body. She cried out at the cool fingers against heated skin, the gentle fingers caressing her bare bottom under the material. He traced the curve of her buttocks up to the small of her back, rubbing circles before sliding down again to ever so teasingly just graze the sensitive inner flesh of her thighs with just his fingertips.

Veronica threw back her head and gasped – his hands so close to where she needed them, yet dancing way leaving her lost and wild in her need.

Willy gently guided her down to stand next to the bed. Eyes remaining steady on hers, he nudged the dress off her hips to fall to the floor unheeded. She now stood naked before him.

The cool air on her skin brought new fear. Her body was screeching for more, but her mind suddenly snapped out of its aroused state. She was standing naked in front of this man, and was quite suddenly shaking with fear. _What was she doing_?

Seeing the new fear burning bright in her eyes, he stepped forward to hug her again - pushing the raging Bob into the back of his mind. The trembling body in his arms threw cold water on his libido and for a moment, he was afraid that he had pushed too far and too fast.

He kept his hands on her back, resting his head against hers. He could feel her panting breath against his neck, making the skin moist. He just held her for a long moment making himself content with the fact that she was here and he was with her – this might be as far as she was able to go tonight.

Veronica started to relax – her thoughts coming back to her after being washed away by the wave of fear. She felt warm and safe in his arms, comforted again by the remarkable restraint Willy showed. She could feel his own trembling and knew that he was just as nervous as he was. He so wanted to do the right thing for her.

Finally, she felt back at the starting point for the evening. Her mind was eager again, but the heat of her ardor had cooled. She looked up at Willy, the closed eyes and rapidly bobbing throat as he concentrated on slow deep breaths. Taking the incentive, she started to explore his newly exposed flesh.

Blushing with her forward thoughts, she ran her hands over his strong arms, feeling the muscle play under his skin. She concentrated on the sight of the firm white flesh – like marble warmed and come to life under her grasp. Her hands memorized the hard arcs and lines that made up his chest and arms. The feel of the wiry body hair brushing against her was like electricity on an already overloaded system.

Willy waited for her eyes to return to his before taking in the long-awaited sight of her - the long legs swelling into softly rounded hips, the strong lines of her abdomen and chest, the nest of dark curls resting damply at her apex. He was suddenly more aroused than he ever thought was possible. The pants were constricting and the sweet pain only made his anticipation stronger.

Curiously, she cupped him. The sight and feel of the small white hand was almost more than he could bear and he moaned, shuddering with the pressure of not expending himself right there.

His arousal was contagious, she felt the dim flicker fan into greater flames of longing as she felt him swell against her – the tender tissue stretching and growing until she knew that the confinement of his pants must hurt him. Fighting against herself, she gently squeezed him, smiling with pure feminine pleasure at the tiny involuntary thrusts against her questing hand.

She delicately traced the top of his pants, looking to him for permission. Trembling, he touched her hands, granting that permission and the delicate tugs and movements as she unfastened the button and unzipped sent warning signals to his brain. If she touched him now, it would be all over before it began. The pressure eased somewhat and before she could push the offending material down his hips, he pulled her closer and kissed her hard – letting his hands travel where they may and feeling her whimper in his arms.

They tumbled back onto the bed then, Veronica fell back and writhed against the soft brushed cotton duvet against her back – the movement incredibly erotic to Willy's eyes. Her hair fanned out around her and the long pale legs stretched out to cradle his hips against her naked flesh. He rubbed up against her again, the loosened material of his pants threatening sweetly to fall away.

He decided that it was time to do a little exploring of his own. He first focused his attention on her breasts, using hands and tongue to torment her. Willy carefully noted every gasp, pant and jerk wrung from her willing body. He quickly learned how to bring cries of pleasure, her body bucking wildly against him.

Always the taste adventurer – that was him.

Pleased with his efforts, he slowly moved downward. The taunt flesh of her stomach twitched under his hand as he moved ever lower. Willy could feel her panting breath as her small breasts heaved and he carefully watched her eyes, looking for any hesitancy or doubt.

There was none.

He carefully cupped her, the heat and moisture slick against his fingers. She groaned in abject relief – throwing her head back and arching hard against him. Curious fingers traced the damp folds and her breath started turning into sobs as she rocked against him, "Willy!"

As his hands explored her, Veronica's hand crept lower as well, scarred fingers tracing the delightful trail of fine hair down his abdomen and past the open waistline of his pants. She could feel the pressure of the elastic waistband against her palm and the hot protuberance rising to brush against it.

The fingers caressing her froze as she brushed that hot weight. Willy was watching her and trembling as her fingers eased under the tight band. She used what sensitivity remained in the sides and top of her hand to feel the humid heat pressing against her. Tentatively, she caressed the long length of him, feeling the silky smooth skin gliding over hard flesh before reaching down to cup the rest of him, feeling the wiry hair running through her fingers.

He tightly closed his eyes and made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a whimper. The involuntary thrusting of his hips grew stronger and she could see him grit his teeth trying to stop it. She stroked him again, increasing her grip to allow the head to nudge through her fingers. Willy's breath was frozen and his eyes begged her to stop before it was too late.

But she didn't want him to stop.

With new determination, she shoved at his pants and underwear, pushing them down off his hips and using her feet to pull them down his long legs and onto the floor. She could feel the hot length of him pressed against her center, rubbing lightly against her entrance even as she delighted in the strong thighs pushing hers wider to allow him greater access.

Willy looked wicked for a moment – his dark eyes feral, white teeth flashing, "Are you sure?"

She nodded, her eyes darkening to emerald boiling with gold – this was the right moment.

He resisted, struggling not to thrust. Gritting his teeth, he said in a rough voice, "Please, be certain. I don't want to hurt you – and I don't know if I'll be able to stop if we go any further."

Veronica pulled him closer, voice throaty with emotion, "Willy. I want this. I love you and I am yours for however long you shall want me."

"Forever then. I want you forever," he said – staring deep into her eyes and letting the last of his barriers fall.

He kissed her long and hard, finally let himself slide slowly into her – swallowing her cry. She was tight around his member, and he froze, letting her adjust to this new intrusion.

Veronica was lost in sensation, she could feel the thick length of him buried inside of her, every bump and curve seemed amplified. The hot sting faded quickly as her body rallied to this new situation and produced more moisture, easing his passage.

Willy took the invitation that her renewed rocking offered, and he drew back just as slowly only to drive forward again. She arched back hard, her back bowed tight as her hips rose to meet his. Her legs twined tight with his and he used the muscles of his back to smooth the movement, to make it seamless. Her hands dove into his hair, holding his head against hers – feeling the hot breath brush across her face as their lower bodies found a rhythm that suited them.

He was beautiful – the pale skin flushed, lips swollen from numerous kisses. His eyes were open, staring into her as he moved and she felt just as impaled from his gaze as she was from his body. He smiled at her, eyes fluttering shut as she clenched around him, grunting with the sensation. She felt the coiling in her lower belly forcing her arousal to new heights. Her movements became more forceful, showing him that she wanted more.

He felt her demands and accommodated her. Veronica was making soft noises from her throat as she urged him deeper, his thrusts harder. He cradled her head against his hands, resting on his elbows to drive himself into her again and again. He could feel himself tightening, ready to explode but threw his will into resisting – he wouldn't go alone.

Veronica was startled when Willy rolled her over to sit astride him, her thighs taking the weight of her body. She groaned as he was thrust deeper and felt the wild pleasure running through her body. Resting her hands on his chest as he grabbed her hips, she took over the movements. His head was thrown back and he was breathing heavily through an open mouth as he watched the erotic sight of watching his length disappeared into her. Her hair was wild, curling around her to cling to damp skin. Her skin looked golden in contrast to his pale own and her eyes were wild.

Veronica felt the coiling heat rising to flush her whole body, this new position causing Willy to rub against that secret spot deep inside that made her tremble as she felt the onrush of her orgasm even as her legs ached with the unaccustomed exercise.

Willy reached up to caress the swollen nipples and to pull her down upon his raging flesh. He could feel the fluttering of her inner muscles as he forced her down. Her hands curled, raking nails across his chest as he could feel her rising tide beginning to peak.

"Look at me," he panted, "Don't close your eyes."

Their eyes locked as the wave crashed over them. Her eyes went wide and blind as she broke – a scream breaking from her throat at the intensity, "Willy!"

She went rigid in his arms, the incredible strength of her body wrestling control his own peak beyond his capability to control.

Willy too went rigid with a cry, thrusting uncontrollably into the woman above him as she bucked wildly against him. It felt like his heart had exploded and he was all too happy to fall into that little death.

It was as if floodgates were opened, her energy faded away and she slumped against him cradled in his arms. The aftershocks of their joining sizzled through them at random intervals and they still shook with the random burst.

Exhausted beyond measure, Willy pulled her to lie next to him, fingers entwined and breathing heavily. They rested in each other's arms as the sweat was dried rapidly off their cooling skin and she shivered as he finally slid out of her. He pulled the corner of the duvet to cover them both and she snuggled closer, draping one leg over his and resting her arm across his chest. His heart pounded under her touch and she marveled at the experience. The whole world felt like it had changed around her – or that she was seeing things clearly for the first time.

His hand came up to rest over hers, his quiet voice concerned, "Are you alright? I hope I didn't hurt you."

She smiled at the subtle ache between her legs – nothing more than what a long time without intimate contact would render.

"I'm fine … more than fine, really. Happy. Satisfied. Delirious even," she replied softly, reaching up to stroke his hair and smile up at the relaxed features she so dearly loved.

"Good. I wouldn't want to let you down," Willy said, running one finger up and down her arm, watching the fine hair raise and smoothing it down again.

Veronica yawned and snuggled closer, resting her head on his chest to feel the reassuring thump of his heart against her cheek, "Nothing disappointing there at all. We may have to try again later though just to make sure."

She wanted to tell him how her world had exploded behind her eyes, how his loving touch drove away any remaining memory of Marcus and his cruel intentions. Veronica felt more relaxed than she'd ever felt in her life and simply enjoyed Willy's long limbs wrapped around her own and the primal comfort offered by his touch. Opening her mouth, she was overwroght with a yawn instead, "Sorry - I can't seem to keep my eyes open, love. I'm sleepy."

"Isn't the guy supposed to drop off first?" Willy teased with a smile, a yawn escaping him as well.

Darn contagious, yawns.

"I'll let you off this time as long as I get a command encore later," she laughed.

Willy closed his eyes, still smiling and nodded wearily, sleep pulling him down as he pulled her closer, "After a nap."

"After a nap," she agreed sleepily.

Each caring tenderly for the other, they pulled the covers higher over their naked forms and slept, entrenched in each other's arms.


	34. Chapter 34

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Mr. Wonka seems to be in a pretty good mood this morning. I wonder why? – Stealth Phoenix_

_**Warning: Adult content ahead. If matters of adult sexual behavior bother you, move on. You have been warned!**_

**Chapter 34**

He dreamed.

The jungle steamed around him, the humid weight pressing against him like a physical force. His lungs ached with the effort of drawing in the water–laden air.

He moved through the brush easily, his body moving aside the clinging branches and thorns without thought. His eyes scanned the dense foliage searching for movement. His body felt strong and fluid as it carried him on easy strides across the deep loam of the forest floor. He was searching for something, something just as primal and essential as food, water air and shelter.

The breeze lifted for a moment, bringing new information on the air. He closed his eyes and sniffed deeply, sorting through the complicated scent – leaf mold, sea air, fresh water nearby and…

…her.

Eyes flashing open, he followed the trail – leaping over fallen logs, agile feet negotiating the root twisted trail through the undergrowth. His bare skin glistened with sweat with his efforts – running swiftly before the wind shifted and took her away from him again.

He came to the small river that leapt and played about the tumbled rocks – water running cold and swift. He saw her then, kneeling over a still pool, rinsing her nude body with the water cleaning away the accumulated salt from swimming in the ocean.

Her dark rich hair was tumbled around her damply, the breeze playing lightly with the drying tendrils. The trickles of water traced her curves, from the strong slender shoulders, down her pale arms and following the course across her torso to the dark curls at her apex and lightly tickling the long line of her strong thighs to return to the pool happier for the experience.

He crouched in the shadows of the leaves, watching his mate bathe. He could smell her from here, fresh from her exertion and the low-level arousal that surrounded her. He could see her leaf-bright eyes scanning the undergrowth lazily, awaiting his return. She slowly trickled the cool water over her breasts, nipples puckering as she traced their lines, waiting.

He moved silently, circling around to approach her from behind, his eyes greedily taking in the smooth flanks and creamy skin of her buttocks and the play of slight muscles in her back as she bathed. When she knelt to dip her long hair in the pool, he moved.

Swift bare feet moved silently over the river stone and before she could cry out in alarm, he had her in his arms, wrapped around her from behind.

Her inhaled breath to scream eased out in a long moan instead as his hands found her juncture, cupping her hard. He buried his nose deep in her hair and neck, inhaling her flowery scent overlaid by the musk of her arousal. His fingers quickly found her entrance and burrowed in, spreading the growing moisture around her tight entry.

His other hand cupped her breast, pulling on the tight nipple, making her arch back into him hissing. Her round buttocks met his arousal and sheltered him within the cleft. He rocked forward, sliding against her back growling through clenched teeth.

_Mine_.

She whimpered as his clever fingers found her nub, rubbing the sensitive organ until she shuddered in his arms crying out her completion.

He pulled her closer then, allowing his engorged member to slip forward into her waiting channel. He thrust forward with a cry, senses overwhelmed with her tight wet heat. She snarled as he backed away, only to cry out again as his powerful hips thrust forward.

He was so focused on the sensations washing over him - her desperate cries and plucking hands at his flanks to fill her to completion, their arousal heavy in the air around them, the heat of the sunlight against his bare back competing with the warm skin that drove him onward, the salty sweet taste of her skin as he nipped and sucked at the soft white neck, the tickle of her hair against his loins as he drove forward again and again.

He was wrapped in this drive to mate, to wrap himself in her and drive her to completion again and again, to fill her belly with his seed making it swell with his child. The urgent press of the rising heat pushing hard on his lower spine through the heavy weight of the flesh driving into her encompassed his mind.

He grabbed the sheets to add more leverage to his thrust as she moaned, digging his toes into the mattress and hating the heavy weight of the duvet as it stuck to his sweat soaked body.

_Wait a minute_…

Willy opened his eyes from the amazingly vivid dream. The jungle faded into his familiar bedroom with his not so familiar bedmate writhing against him.

He froze in alarm. _What the hell was he doing_?

Veronica was moaning, pushing back against him insistently, eyes still closed and features still flushed with sleep.

Oh, God. He was no better than that bastard that raped her. Willy paled and felt his erection start to shrivel at the horror facing him. He was taking advantage of her while she slept – abusing the trust she held in him.

He was scum.

He was the biggest slime on the planet.

He was…

"You know, if you stop now, I may be forced to kill you," Veronica said conversationally as she opened her eyes and peered amusedly at him, rocking her hips back against him in a long sensuous gesture.

…the biggest stud on the face of the planet.

Arousal reborn, he bucked forward again, relishing her gasp of surprise at the renewed attack.

"We can't have that now, can we?" he purred, feeling her tighten with another orgasm.

They moved together, side by side for a few minutes more as Willy tried to ignore the hot press of his own completion to bring her around again. Finally, his hand caressed her nub and pinched the hot point of her breast to bring her shrieking and bucking against him before letting fly with his own repressed release. Willy went blind as he strained and erratically thrust into her willing body, blood rushing through his ears making him deaf to her screams as she convulsed around him.

They lay panting for a long moment. Veronica threw back the duvet weakly to let the cool air circulate around their overheated bodies.

"Sorry about that," Willy gasped, ashamed of taking advantage of her while she slept.

"Don't be. That was better than any alarm clock known on the face of the planet," she whispered, still feeling the zings of aftershocks shooting through her body.

"But I still took advantage of you," he insisted.

She rolled over to kiss him long and hard. "Nonsense. At no point was I saying 'No.' At a couple of points I may have been screaming 'YES! YES!' but I don't remember clearly because there was no blood going to my brain."

He wrapped his arms around her, regarding her fondly, "As long as you're sure then?"

"Absolutely," she purred, nibbling on his lower lip playfully.

The dim light of early morning was brightening the stained glass ceiling above their heads. The fire was still burning brightly in the hearth and Willy was somewhat proud of the piles of disheveled clothing scattered around the room.

"Happy Christmas," she murmured, stroking his damp hair away from his forehead, and making it stand up in strange ways.

"It is Christmas, isn't it? Merry Christmas to you too!" He giggled, hugging her close in delight.

She laughed at his expression, "Would you like your present now or after I get back from visiting Reggie?"

Willy looked at her slyly, sitting up to rest on one elbow to see her clearly. She presented quite the fetching site, all rumbled and flushed with his loving.

"Depends. What did you get me?" he asked coyly.

"A surprise,"

"What kind of surprise?"

"The best kind."

Willy kissed her lightly, "I think I already got the best gift in the universe – you."

Veronica smiled up at him and her fingers absently traced his chest, "Yes, but I'm not wrapped up with a bow, nor am I anything special."

"That could be arranged, and I would beg to differ," he purred, collecting another long slow kiss.

Their kiss was interrupted by a long low howl ending on a pitiful high note.

Willy glanced down at his stomach in embarrassment, blushing, "Oops! Sorry about that – I didn't get that much to eat yesterday."

She sat up, energized, "Me neither. Know what sounds good?"

"Pancakes?" he offered.

"Yup – and a shower," Veronica grimaced at him, "Not to sound offensive or anything, but I feel terribly sticky."

He blushed, realizing what the source of her discomfort was and agreed wholeheartedly that a shower was in order.

"Bathroom is beyond that door over there. Please, be my guest."

She rolled over him and strode naked over to the bathroom. Willy enjoyed the sway of her hips and watched the cat-like grace of her movements. He rolled back onto the bed and put his hands behind his head, trying to take in the sheer happiness and difference one night could make.

"You've really landed on your feet, m'boy," He said out loud to himself with a grin.

"What was that?" Veronica called, flushing the toilet.

"Nothing!"

She poked her head out around the corner and playfully posed in the doorway, leaning against the door jam with one leg cocked, head raised in challenge, hand resting on her hip, "Lovely. Everyone is happy. Now are you joining me in the shower or am I to wash my own back?"

Veronica laughed at Willy attempting to leap from the bed in his eagerness to join her and tumbling to the floor with the duvet wrapped around his legs.

"Coming love!"

--

It was an hour later that they arrived at The ramshackle Bucket home in the Chocolate Room. They had made a quick stop by Veronica's rooms to allow her to dress and collect her coat and bag. Willy was grinning but still looking more than a little startled. She'd done this _thing_ in the shower…

Veronica watched him as they landed, feeling more than a little smug. Ambush her would he? Not without retaliation.

"Now behave yourself while we're here," she warned, moving his wandering hands from her rump.

"I will if you will," he said cheekily.

Willy threw open the door, shouting out, "Merry Christmas Buckets!"

The crew inside called out their own greetings. Veronica noted with a grin that Grandpa George seemed to be rather washed out and had bright bloodshot eyes. "Bah Humbug," was his only reply.

Mrs. Bucket had whipped up a huge stack of pancakes, a bowl full of scrambled eggs, a plate of rashers and bangers and the table practically groaned with assorted pastries, juices and, most beautiful to her eyes, a carafe of coffee.

"Help yourself – we're grazing today," Mrs. Bucket cheerfully invited. Veronica wasted no time and loaded up a plate with the delicious smelling food. She had poured herself a cup of coffee and was digging in with great appetite when Mrs. Bucket caught her eye.

She waited until Veronica returned her gaze with a raised eyebrow then deliberately looked down at the laden plate and back up at her with a wicked grin.

Oh.

Veronica fought down the blush that threatened, and then looked down at Mrs. Bucket's similarly loaded plate with intent – staring back at the woman with challenge in her eyes and a smirk of her own.

Mrs. Bucket blushed herself and glanced at her husband, talking with Charlie about a book he had gotten for Christmas.

Ah.

_I guess everyone had a good time last night, then_.

"Mr. Wonka, thank you for escorting Charlie to the village last night. He's told us some interesting tales," Mr. Bucket said to the Chocolatier, attempting to stuff a dripping pancake stuffed with eggs in his mouth.

Willy, cheeks bulging just waved expansively as if to say "_No problem, my pleasure_."

Mrs. Bucket chimed in, "Yes, quite the interesting ceremonies. When can we expect the warpaint to wear off?"

Veronica shot a look over to the embarrassed Charlie. Apparently he had fun of his own last night and the markings of the warrior youths he was dancing with were still bright on his face. Veronica struggled to hide her laugh at his expense – poor Charlie!

Willy rolled his eyes, "Charlie – what have we learned about putting strange substances on our face without knowing anything about it first?"

Charlie looked slightly puzzled for a moment. "Which thing? 'Never trust a giggling Oompa Loompa' or 'Try anything once'?"

Willy looked flustered and shot a bashful look at the bemused adults around the table, "Heh. Kids. The paint should stick around another week or so – depending on which pigments they use. Although, watch out for the black – that's permanent."

Veronica quickly polished off her plate, smiling at Charlie's alarmed face. She nodded to the table, "Please excuse my eating and running. I've got to go meet Reggie and Spencer to give them their presents."

Willy blotted his lips and shot to his feet as she rose collecting her coat and bag, "Here, let me escort you. Charlie and I need to do a quick inspection round this afternoon anyway. Charlie, meet me outside when you're ready."

He followed her out the door, only to sweep her into a passionate kiss once they were out of line of sight from the house.

"When will you be back?" he whispered once she managed to get her breath back.

"A couple of hours – by this afternoon certainly. I'm going to walk rather than take the Wonkavator."

"Are you sure? It's safer?"

"But not as low-key. Don't worry – I can take care of myself," She said softly, kissing him once more before slipping from his arms.

"This is your home now. Please come back to it safely." Willy said.

Rather stunned at that particular proclamation, she nodded and gave him a stiff smile before entering the Wonkavator to take her to the loading dock to take the back entrance out.

This was her home? She wondered with mixed feelings.

Too bad he forgot to ask her first.

--

It was a good stiff 45 minute walk from the factory. Plenty of time to think and enjoy the cold white world from which she managed to absent herself for the past few weeks. Veronica had an idea what Rip Van Winkle must have felt like after the strange but comforting world of the factory.

All the more reason why she'd probably need to find herself a new place to live rather quickly. Like the old legends of the Sidhe, you'd visit for a day only to find that a thousand years had passed in the normal world.

Not that she was planning on giving up Willy any time soon. She'd fight to stay with him until the last breath of life left her body. The only trouble lay in making that distinction – she needed her own space, but still wanted to be at his side.

Puzzling the matter, she buzzed the entry of Reggie and Spencer's building. "It's me!" she called.

The buzzer sounded without comment.

Unusual.

As she stomped up the stairs, she could hear the noise and voices associated with a television. She knocked while attempted to identify what the men were watching.

"…looks like the mystery remains for now. The woman in the pictures with the elusive chocolatier remains at large, but we'll investigate the matter and bring you the breaking news…"

The noise snapped off suddenly as the door was flung open and Spencer's slightly wild eyed grin looked maniacal, "Ronnie! Please come in." He grabbed both her arms and jerked her inside; shooting a desperate glance up and down the hall to ensure no nosey neighbors poked their heads out.

Reggie was staring at the blank screen with a horrified look that he tried to wipe away as she entered, "Merry Christmas! Please, come in – grab a chair and make yourself at home."

Veronica stopped, giving her brother a long suspicious look, "Reggie? What's going on?"

He jumped to his feet and bustled to the kitchen, "Nothing. Do you want something to drink?" Reggie grabbed a tumbler and quickly poured a shot and gulped it down before looking at the frozen woman by the door with a fake smile.

Veronica felt that she had grown into a connoisseur of such false smiles – this one was equal parts worry, fear, and desperation. Reggie was afraid of her reaction to something.

"Reggie?" Veronica asked, crossing her arms and giving him a level glare. It was the look borrowed from her mother again. He was holding out on her.

Spencer lay a calming hand on her shoulder, "Let him be, Ducks. We've had a rough couple of days."

She shot a puzzled glance at him, "What's going on? Are you two in trouble?"

"No – but I think you two are," Spencer said gently, leading her to sit on the sofa and grabbing the remote to turn the television back on.

The flat screen mounted on the wall lit up to display one of the inane celebrity news channels that Spencer and Reggie adored and she loathed. There was a video playing. It was Willy and Spencer in their dramatic dance-off from the Wedding. The voice-over was droning…

"…we see here a clip of the wildly popular U-Tube video posted two days prior. It has already registered a record 200,000 hits. The video features the elusive world-famous Chocolatier, Willy Wonka and choreographer Reginald Carmichael having fun at a private celebration."

Reggie groaned dramatically, throwing one arm over his eyes as she stifled a giggle. This is what he was stressing over? It looked like free advertising to her.

"…later footage shows Wonka dancing with a mystery woman with whom he exchanges what looks like a tender kiss…"

Veronica's head snapped so quickly back to the screen that her eyes swam for a moment. The picture showed a highly pixilated video of two figures swaying to the music. She was able to see that it was Willy and herself, although thanks to the quality of the footage there was no real way to make out her features. Her momentary relief of her concealed identity faded as the voice-over continued.

"Speculation has it that she's Veronica Carmichael – Reginald Carmichael's sister and spun-sugar artisan who partnered with Wonka to market the new rage Candy Globes selling in stores under the Wonka label. Candy Globes made an estimated 2.2 million€ this holiday season. Is love in the air for the Candy Dandy or is Carmichael playing him for a Sugar Daddy? We'll bring you more as the story develops."

Veronica was frozen in shock. She'd just figured out that she loved Willy and now the whole bloody world knew about it?

Spencer smiled sadly at her stunned face, "Sorry love. Smile – you're on candid camera."


	35. Chapter 35

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Interesting note; Tupik-Ra says that the Oompa Loompa swear by Cocoa Beans to cure hangovers. (Then again they swear by them for everything. Hey, any excuse to eat chocolate is good for me.) – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 35**

It was a few minutes and a shot of brandy later when the shock receded enough for Veronica to talk. Needless to say, the holiday mood had been successfully quashed.

"Who took the bloody pictures, that's what I want to know," she huffed, sipping at the amber liquid. The news had switched to some American starlet's fiasco at a late night party and the arrest following- the usual idiot drivel. She never dreamed she'd be included in it.

"That would be David Lawson – he used one of those camera phones." Spencer said, sitting back and extending his long legs to rest on the coffee table before the couch.

"I saw him recording the dancing and thought it pretty harmless. I thought that would be the last of it," Veronica admitted, slumping back to slouch against the back of the couch. Her jacket and bag were still on and she wasn't of a mind to take them off at the moment.

"Normally, I would agree – I wanted to see how that looked from the other side myself," Reggie said. "But he broke the rules of hospitality by shooting you two. That is beyond rude."

"No use whinging about it now. What we've got to figure out is what to do now?" Spencer said sensibly.

Veronica looked to Reggie and Spencer for advice on this one since they worked with the celebrities on a daily basis.

"First things first – what do we hope to accomplish?" Spencer grabbed a pen and pad from behind him on the computer desk.

"I want my privacy. Willy and I just figured out that we love one another – that's not open to commentary or play-by-play," Veronica said firmly.

"It's still going to be a topic open for discussion though - not to mention that since Willy is such a recluse that you're a good alternate target for paparazzi attention." Reggie said sadly.

"You could keep staying at the factory with Willy. He seemed to like the idea of having you close by when the apartment burned down," Spencer pointed out.

Veronica frowned. That was the crux of the matter wasn't it?

"Technically, I finished the project – so I'm no longer an employee. Other than personal reasons I have no other reason to linger there," She said slowly, leaning forward and playing with the glass.

Spencer and Reggie looked at each other and then at her with disbelief in their eyes.

"Personal reasons? You love the bloke – that's every reason to stick around." Reggie said.

"Yes. I do. But I don't want to be some glass animal in his little menagerie. The factory is a wonderful, but it's a protected place. Willy has turned it into a little bubble outside the world. I'm not ready to retreat into that yet. Not to mention I really have nothing to do there." Veronica said, speaking as well as thinking things through. "I intended to start looking for a new place to live anyway."

"What does Willy have to say about all this?" Reggie asked, turning off the television for the moment.

"We haven't had much of a chance to talk about it yet. He told me as I left that the factory was my home and to come back safe. I thought it rather presumptuous myself," She confessed.

"Sounds pretty clear to me that he considers you living with him," Spencer said.

Veronica blushed, "It's a bit early for that step isn't it? I mean we just…"

Reggie nodded wisely, "Oh? So you passed that little barricade recently eh? Well, I happen to agree with you – not for any puritanical reasons, but more or less because you two are so early in the relationship."

Spencer agreed, "It's a wonderful thing to be close to the one you love all the time, but you have to maintain your own identity as well. I have a feeling that if you just became some sort of goupie you two would soon part company. Not to mention you wouldn't be you anymore - you'd be him. I've seen couples like that, they always break up claiming they want to see "other" people."

She nodded sadly, "Too true. Maybe someday I'll live with him, but for now - it's all too new for me. I just wish we'd had the chance to talk about it before he made his mind up."

He gave her a stern look, "This is something you _make_ time to talk about with him."

Spencer looked woeful, "Media attention isn't going to make anything easier. It's only a matter of time before they dig up this mess with your apartment building and bloody Brahm."

Veronica winced, "One disaster at a time please."

"Well, let's focus on the first thing," Reggie leaned over to give her a good hug, "Congratulations – you and Willy make a lovely couple."

She half laughed and half sobbed. Trust Reggie to get to the heart of the matter.

"Second – we'll help you start scouting new places to live. I'm guessing somewhere near the factory, rooftop access and good security. Do you want to live and work in the same location?"

"Since living and working in the same place didn't work out so well, how about separate this time." She suggested, feeling better for having a plan of action.

"Bringing us nicely to question three on things we can actually do right now – how much do you want to pay for such a place?"

Veronica shrugged, "I haven't checked my account since before the fire – just to make sure I had enough to pay for presents and pay for getting the power turned back on."

"Well, you go check it on the computer and I'll dig out my rolodex to find someone to work with us," Reggie said.

Logging onto her bank, she was thankful for the advances in technology that allowed her to check her balance on Christmas Day. Much better than trying to wait until three days from now after the holidays were over.

She hit the button to bring up her account balance. Scrabbling for a working pen and tablet, she glanced at the screen, trying to shuffle over from where Reggie was scrounging through a desk drawer for his address book.

…and glanced again. Then came around for a look for a third time, feeling her jaw drop.

Reggie muttered, "Here, move away for a second, I think it's in the center drawer."

She tugged on his sleeve, staring at the screen.

Reggie looked over her shoulder, "Great Googlie Mooglie!"

Spencer, attracted by the outburst, asked from his seat, "What?"

The balance read just over €2.5 million.

"What the bloody fuck?" Reggie whispered in awe.

Veronica desperately checked the recent transactions and over the course of the last few weeks, incremental amounts had been deposited on a regular basis. The last was entered yesterday for the amount of €450,000. All were from Wonka Inc. She clicked on the deposit and read the note attached.

"This one is the final payment for my work on the project," she said mentall subtractng her advance and agreeing with the number.

Clicking on another deposit, she read the note, "Partnership Ltd. Wonka/Carmichael."

Spencer gasped, "The candy globes? The report said they had sold more than €2.2 million worth."

Veronica shook her head, "But he said…" then trailed off as the conversation returned to her.

"…_I'll help you market them for a nominal fee."_

That memory paired with her conversation with Clara Bucket in front of Bill's Candy store added up.

Willy had been giving her the profits on the candy globes. She was a millionaire!

Veronica winced and shook her head at the thought - other than a good safety cushion, she'd never wanted money. Looks like a couple of good donations to her favorite charities were in order once she got her living arrangements squared away.

"Money no longer seems to be an object. Still – I want something small near the factory."

"How about the Marriott Hotel?" Spencer chimed in.

"I don't want to spend my time at a hotel."

"No – I meant buy the bloody thing."

"No Spencer."

"Always worth a try…"

Reggie leaned over to gently log her off, facing her once the screen went blank, "You were saying something about not having anything to do at the factory?"

"The globes were nice, but not what I want to do. I was just trying to make enough not to lose my apartment," she protested.

"That might be, but working with Willy Wonka has a way of turning your dreams into bigger projects than you expected, doesn't it?"

Veronica moved away to retake her seat on the couch – she took a long sip of the brandy before answering.

"If you want to know the truth? I really don't have that kind of ambition to make the world a better place on that kind of scale. I want to be able to help others do so…" she sighed in frustration. "I always imagined making sculptures for charity events to be auctioned off or to raise money for a Children's hospital. Not mass producing candy – I always thought of Willy for that, never me."

Spencer leaned forward in earnest, "Talk to him about this Ronnie! Don't you dare sit here and stew in your own juices. I refuse to be a party to brooding on Christmas."

Reggie agreed, "This is something that we can't help you with. Every marriage, every relationship is different – you need to come to your own conclusions. Just don't let the media, Brahm or anyone else make that decision for you."

She nodded and the two men came at her from both sides for a group hug.

She was the luckiest woman in the world.

"Love Fest aside, let's get on with Christmas!" Spencer grinned, leaping to his feet. He flipped on the stereo to the mellow tunes of Bing Crosby singing "White Christmas."

"I for one am massively curious what you got me? After all, you're rich and can afford to buy up to my standards now." Spencer said, moving to the small tree next to the kitchen.

Gifts were handed out and unwrapped in short order. Veronica felt her gloom subside with the simple child-like pleasure of tearing brightly colored paper off presents.

Spencer crowed with joy at opening her offering to him, "Yes! You found it! I knew your impeccable taste would come through for me."

"It's a sock monkey, Spence."

"Yes, but it's _my_ sock monkey!" He peered at the card in the sock monkey's pocket, "What's this?"

"The name of Willy's tailor. He said give him a call next week and he'll work you in," Veronica laughed as Spencer leaped to his feet and danced with joy.

Reggie smiled at the big band CD collection, "Perfect – maybe I can finally teach you to swing dance, Ronnie."

Veronica cringed at the thought, "Isn't that where your partner flings you around like a sack of flour?"

She unwrapped her present from Reggie. It was a framed picture of the four of them from the party. Reggie and Spencer, arms around each other's shoulders, looped through with her and Willy. The group was smiling and for once Willy's grin didn't look forced in the picture.

"It's beautiful Reggie. Thank you!" she said, gently brushing a finger over the picture.

She opened Spencer's gift only to slam the box shut and glare at him with a violent blush across her face, "Spencer Abernathy Talbot!"

Spencer was unashamed. "Darling – you are embarking on your first romantic relationship in a decade. You needed the refresher kit."

"Everyone needs new lingerie," Reggie agreed, giving her an evil grin.

She glowed at them as they chuckled at her discomfiture.

Payback would be a bitch.

_--_

Willy and Charlie made a quick tour throught the factory. Considering the Exodus Ceremony last night and the fact that it was Christmas, most of the factory was shut down - simple standby modes were all they scanned throught.

Willy was humming under his breath with a wide smile on his face. For the first time in his life he really looked forward to sitting down to Christmas Dinner with someone by his side. Occasionally he would twirl his cane and do a little dance step with joy.

Charlie was doing his best to ignore his mentor - his downcast mood was from spending part of the day scrubbing at his face and body until it was tender to try and remove the warrior markings painted on by his friends last night.

"Could you please stop that?" he finally pleaded as Willy whirled around a support post to the cotton candy-wool shearing shed. The sheep themselves were already fed and watered, their pens clean. They were apparently enjoying the show the dancing Chocolatier was providing before his apprentice interrupted.

"Can't help it Charlie. I'm so happy, I just want to burst!" Willy sang out with a twirl.

"What are you so happy about?"

"Veronica told me she loved me - and I love her - so we're in loooooooovvveee!" He sang, mostly on key.

"What happens when she goes home?" Charlie asked curiously - he had his suspicions about what had happend after they snuck out last night, but no known force in the universe was going to make him ask his mentor about that particular aspect of his love life.

Ew!

"She's not - she's staying here." Willy insisted, moving toward the Wonkavator.

"Considering that her home burned down, staying here while that Schnozwanger was under construction was a natural conclusion - but did you actually ask her first? Girls are funny about that." Charlie said with all the wisdom of a typical 15 year old boy.

"Oh Charlie - you're so funny. She loves me, therefore she'll stay here." Willy laughed lightly. But something felt off about that statement - it pierced the rose-colored bubble around his mind.

"Willy," Charlie said in a warning tone, "Remember what happened with you said I had to leave my family behind? You made an assumption there too and look what it got you."

Willy's face fell. Darn it!

_Stupid reality_.

Sighing, he turned toward the young man, "Alright - you're dead right. I'll talk to her when she gets back and find out what's on her mind. I guess I'm only wishing she'll stay."

Crisply clapping his hands, his smile brightened once more, "Besides, I can still be happy that she loves me. Now don't dwadle Charlie, we're heading to the invention room. I've been inspired - I think I know what the heck is going on with the meal-in-a-stick of gum. It'll only take a little bit and then we can head down to dinner when Veronica gets back."

The boy sighed and followed the scampering Chocolatier. He was nearly impossible like this.

--

Sunlight was fading from the early winter sky as she trekked back toward the factory laden with several bags of presents. Veronica kept a wary eye on the surrounding crowd, but no one in particular seemed to be paying any more attention than the usual.

The rest of the visit had been more light-hearted, although it was with grim determination that when things threatened to get too maudlin, one of the other two would start some silly argument about the most inane topic they could conceive of – ranging from 'the sex life of smurfs' or 'did Darth Vader use Windex or Turtle Wax on the helmet.'

Veronica crossed the street, pausing to allow a car to glide by before hopping over the accumulated sludge on the curb passing a black Land Rover parked by a light post. A man loitered by the entrance to an apartment building and she offered him a small smile and a short, "Merry Christmas" as she passed.

"Excuse me. Miss?" the man said softly.

She turned and the flash of light caught her full in the eyes. She staggered back, covering her face from the sporadic flashes of light, "Hey! What the…?"

"Ms. Carmichael, are you dating Willy Wonka?"

"How long have you been lovers?"

"Is it true that you're after him for the money?"

"What's your favorite recipe?"

Veronica dimly made out the small crowd of reporters surrounding her. The flashing bulbs threw globular purple specks in front of her eyes. The bodies, closed in, cutting off her escape route. Scared, she edged toward the silent apartment building, trying to put her back against something solid.

"Ms. Carmichael, what is your connection to the building fire on 123 Bradshaw St on 28 November of this year?

"What do you say to the criminal charges brought against you by Victor Brahm?"

The protruding microphones and flashing light made a dignified escape impossible, so she threw herself forward, pushing bodies aside with streaming eyes to make a break for the open street beyond. There were several aborted tugs on her coat and bags, but she was free.

There were several angry shouts and more yelled questions, but she was clear of the crowd and ran for her life down the street.

She heard the confused yelling and slamming of car doors followed by the turn over of several engines. Her heart pounded with fear and she felt cold sweat trickling down her back under her coat.

They were coming after her.

Veronica put her head down and sprinted as hard as she could with the slippery snow underfoot. She could see the looming gates up ahead. If she could make it that far, she'd be safe. Slipping, she nearly lost her footing, but ungracefully recovered, nearly dropping her bag in the process. The black Land Rover cut her off and she dodged around it as the occupants tried to tumble out.

"Ms. Carmichael!"

"Comment please…"

"Hey lady! Look this way…"

She slammed into the gates, frantically jerking on them screaming, "Let me in! Help!"

There was a click at the small side gate and she lurched toward it only to be caught by a short balding man in a black coat, "Here, Ms. Carmichael. Calm down and just answer a few questions…"

She shoved him aside, panting with fear and threw herself through the smaller gate, pushing it closed with all her strength before sprinting for the dark ominous entryway of the factory – a sight that never looked so comforting to her.

Veronica ran inside and slammed the door shut before leaning against it to slide to the floor, gasping and sobbing. _They were animals_! A panic attack was rising and she felt the breath burning in her throat as her eyesight darkened at the corners. She felt hot and cold at the same time. Closing her eyes she tried to slow her breathing down before she passed out.

She felt small hands patting her shoulder and looked up to see a few of the workers surrounding her concernedly. "Ver-Oni-Ka! What happened you? Why were they chasing you?" asked one.

"What's your name?" she asked foggily, managing to calm down to speak intelligently, although she still trembled from the adrenaline rush.

"I am O-Li. Please, what is going on?"

"That was the media, O-Li. Apparently news has leaked out of Mr. Wonka and I and the outside world finds this of great interest," she sniffed, wiping her face on the backs of her hands before pushing herself to her feet. "Where is Willy? I need to talk to him about this?"

"Won-Ka is in the invention room. Please, let us escort you there. You still look quite shaken," O-Li offered. One of the other workers stepped forward, "Let me take those bags back to your room for you, along with your coat and bag if you wish."

She nodded and quickly divested herself. She followed O-Li to the ever waiting Wonkavator. It was a little known secret that there were in fact seven Wonkavators, but only three were capable of leaving the factory. She was thankful as the journey that would have taken at least an hour to walk only took a moment of two in the high velocity mode of transportation.

There was a simple door with a warning sign on it looking rather like a bank vault. O-Li pressed an intercom button by the side of the closed door. "Won-Ka?"

A beat or two later and Charlie's voice came on instead, "He's occupied at the moment? What's up?"

"Ver-Oni-Ka is here – she needs to talk to Won-Ka with great urgency."

Charlie grunted and suddenly the door started to swing open with ponderous weight. _The bloody thing must weigh well over a ton_, she thought to herself.

Charlie's head popped out, "Hi Ms. Carmichael, Willy and I were…" he broke off seeing her tear-stained face, "Uh-Oh. What happened?"

Veronica stepped inside past Charlie, "Where is he?"

Charlie pointed and she saw Willy's feet in their pointed black boots poking out from under some strange machine, "Hey Charlie? Hand me the 3/8 Griply please? Two more turns and we should have it…"

Veronica strode over and knelt down to pull the man by his trousers out from under the machine with no warning. There was a sharp cry of surprise and Willy's grease-smudged face appeared. He had taken off his coat and wore an apron over the vest and shirt. Heavy work gloves concealed his hands.

"Veronica! You're back." His happy smile faded to concern, "Why are you crying?"

He collected her closer and hugged her with comforting warmth, "Are you alright? What happened?"

"I was attacked," she said into his shoulder. He released her suddenly to peer into her eyes, "I'm fine. Really."

"Who was it ... I'll call Cavenaugh and get them right over here.."

"Willy. It was the media."

He froze, eyes confused, "Why were they stalking you?"

Veronica just looked at him with sadness in her eyes.

"We need to talk."


	36. Chapter 36

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Thanks to Yva for all the support and inspiration. Cold medicine can be a great inspiration for many strange things but it also makes for short chapters. Sorry. _– _Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 36**

Willy impatiently pulled his work gloves off and shucked the apron. He jumped to his feet and guided Veronica to take a seat on one of the stools around a workbench. "Okay – first thing. Are you alright?"

She nodded as he grabbed a green glass bottle and poured a bit into a waiting paper cup. He handed it to her and she gratefully sipped – it tasted like some sort of sweet dessert wine with bubbles.

"It's a new soda I'm working on for adults – taste like Riesling, but isn't alcoholic and has the same calorie content as any diet soda." He explained, taking the other stool and setting it to Veronica's side for Charlie before taking his own seat.

Charlie slipped onto his own stool as Veronica told her tale starting with the news at Reggie's apartment and ending with her ambush as she returned home.

Willy groaned and sunk his head down into his hands, once again clad in purple latex, "Oh love! I'm so sorry this happened to you." He looked at her miserably, "I was hoping you'd be able to duck this since you were staying here and I was trying to be circumspect when I visited you."

Charlie patted her shoulder sympathetically, "It started like that for me too - right after the golden ticket contest. I kept getting harassed on my way to school. Eventually, the principal had to hold a press conference and tell them I was off limits on school grounds. A couple of my teachers got fired when they gave interviews about how I was doing in classes."

"So, how did you manage to shake them off?" Veronica asked.

"Who says I did? There are a couple of really persistent reporters who follow me when I go out, but I'm a rather boring person I'm afraid and most of them wandered off to cover other things," Charlie admitted.

"Great – this on top of everything else," Veronica sighed. "I don't know if I'm cut out for such notoriety."

Willy nodded sadly, "I know I'm not. Why do you think I rarely go out?"

Veronica took his hand, "But Willy, why cut yourself off from the world because of a few jackals?"

He shook his head, "It's not just a few. Everything I was doing was subject to such intense scrutiny. When secrets leaked and the media was all over me about my reaction to that kind of betrayal, I vowed never to allow myself to be subjected to such blood-sucking again. "

She looked at the man she loved. "I don't think I could do that. I love your factory Willy, but I refuse to let them chase me away from the world."

"Why endanger yourself? It's not forever, just a little while – the case against Victor is coming together according to Cavenaugh. Just wait until that dies down before heading out again?" Willy pleaded.

Veronica stood and started to pace the room, trying to put her mixed feelings into words – and into words that wouldn't hurt him.

"Willy. What we have is so new and precious, I don't want everyone out there prying into it. I agree that staying here would be a good idea at first look, but," she paused and pinned him with a look, "How long would that be? A month, two months? More? I can't put my life on hold for that long."

Willy was mute.

She resumed pacing, "When you said earlier that the factory was my home. That's true to a degree." Veronica stopped and approached Willy, a tender expression in her eyes, "You're my home."

Charlie, with tact, took this as an indication that this was a conversation that he shouldn't be here for. "Excuse me, I'll catch up with you at the house. Are you still coming for Christmas dinner?"

They both nodded, not unlocking eyes. She cupped Willy's cheek as Charlie slipped out and shut the huge vault door. "He's a good kid. You chose well," she said softly.

"He chose me."

Veronica chose to sit in Willy's lap to continue the conversation, his warmth and touch enabled her to put the feelings flying through her head into order. He silently shifted to allow her more space and wrapped his arms around her, waiting patiently for her to continue."

"You don't want to stay with me do you?" He asked sadly, heart breaking with the thought of this wonderful woman leaving him behind.

"Willy. I love you and nothing will change that. I just don't think I'm ready to stay here with you day in and day out for the rest of my life. I happen to like life on the outside and I'm not going to surrender it to the media, Victor or anyone else," Veronica said.

Willy closed his eyes and willed with all his strength for the tears in his eyes to go away – not to humiliate him as she left. Charlie was right, he did make too many assumptions about her wishes and now he was paying dearly for it.

Veronica was leaving.

Seeing his misconception, she kissed him and held his face in her hands, rough thumbs carefully wiping the tears that refused to obey his wishes from his cheeks, "Willy. I'm not giving up on us. In fact this just makes me more determined not to be parted from you."

Feeling hope rise, he looked to see her hazel eyes just inches from his own, "You're not giving up?"

Smiling, she shook her head, "Never. I told you – I am yours for however long you shall want me. I never break a promise."

He hugged her gently, feeling reassured but confused.

"So, forgive me as I try to catch up, but if you don't want to stay here, and you still want to be with me, what else is there?"

"I'm looking at buying an apartment close to the factory. Something with rooftop access, good security and separate from wherever I decide to establish my workshop. I wanted to get some more ideas from you as well – after all you are going to be a very…" she punctuated point with a kiss, "…frequent visitor."

Willy cheered immediately, finally understanding what she was saying.

"You scared me there." He sighed with relief. "I thought the media would be too much for you and you were leaving me forever."

She smiled, "No way. I just want my own space for the time being. After all…" Veronica shifter to straddle his lap, lips laving his with attention, "…we have just now become lovers. It's a bit presumptuous to jump right into cohabitation. Right?"

Willy's ashamedly pushed his initial reaction to grab her close and hide away with her somewhere in the far reaches of his factory until the media blitz blew over, "Yes dear."

She awarded him with a bright smile and a slow kiss that robbed him of breath. They parted a moment later to lean their foreheads together.

"I don't mean to get greedy. I just don't want to share you with the world. I'm sorry," He said.

"It's okay, I forgive you. Just don't try to protect me without me asking first, alright?"

"Deal. Hungry?" Willy asked, running a hand over her legs with soft pressure.

"For you? Starving," she growled, throatily – the adrenaline rush from earlier feeding into her revived libido.

Willy cleared his throat and flushed as she leaned closer to nibble on his earlobe, "Minx! I meant for Christmas Dinner with the Buckets."

Reluctantly, she slid off his lap and straightened her clothes, "I guess so."

He rose and collected his hat and jacket from the coat hooks by the door. Pulling on his jacket, he asked, "So what did you get those two reprobates for Christmas anyway?"

"Reggie got his favorite CD of Big Band music and Spencer got another sock monkey."

"Sock Monkey?"

"It's better to probably never ask. Safer that way."

--

Across the globe, Victor Brahm was doing what he did best - sucking up to the rich and famous.

The Christmas party he was catering for a well known Daytime star known for great acts of Charity was going well. All the guest were chatting with each other and the hostess herself had come over to thank him for working on Christmas.

"For you, dear lady? Anything?"

"Have you seen the house, Victor? I think you'd find it interesting," she offered with a gleam in her eye.

Victor grinned charmingly at her. It was not a secret that her long-term relationship was falling apart and she was on the market for a new young stud to add to her stable.

_She wasn't too back on the eyes_, Victor thought. Not exactly his taste, but if she was interested, he'd be glad to service her and still have his own ladies on the side. She'd be good for business and a few choice words about him on air would provide enough opportunities for years to come.

Discretion was the key word to all these Hollywood affairs.

He wiped his hands and removed the apron from around his waist before she took his hand and led him to a crowded living room.

Victor smile and greeted guest, shaking hands and accepting compliments with aplomb. His hostess led him over to the tree to admire some of the blown glass ornaments.

"Aren't these just charming? I found them on-line and had them shipped here since they weren't available in the states yet." She cooed, fingers caressing the ornaments with a sultry look in her eye as she stared at him.

Victor regarded the ornaments. They were nice, the translucent glass gleaming in the soft light, but he really didn't find any household decoration that interesting.

"They're spun sugar!" she breathed in his ear, "Latest and greatest from Wonka. He's apparently been working with some up-and-coming artist. Between you and me, my accountant tells me that he's donating all the profits to the artist to start up their own business."

Really? Victor perked up. Maybe she was hinting that she was following Wonka's steps and planning on sponsoring him with some project. Then Victor looked closer at the decorations she was caressing so delicately. Spun sugar? Wonka?

He started to get a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Do you happen to remember the name of the artist he was working with?" Victor said softly, looking into her eyes with what he hoped was longing. 'I'm pretty familiar with most of the confectionery artist out there."

"Something Carmichael. I don't remember the first name," she said, setting the ornament down and stroking his hand with an acrylic tipped finger.

Victor struggled to keep the fury off his face.

Veronica!

The bloody bitch!

She'd played him and made her move on Wonka.

That should have been his contract!

Realizing that he had been frozen for too long, he turned to his hostess, "Really. I find that fascinating."

She moved her caresses up his arm in a meaningful trail, "Victor darling, you look stunned. Would you like to sit down? Someplace quiet, perhaps?"

Realizing that she was making her move, Victor allowed himself to be tugged from the room, up the grand staircase and down the hall to the master bedroom suite.

He put his body on autopilot while his mind raged at the injustice.

He'd leaked the information that Veronica was fucking Wonka to his buddies in entertainment news and as predicted, they'd leapt on it like starving wolves. It didn't matter if it was true or not, the pressure of the paparazzi would soon drive her from his side. The implications of their incestuous business dealings would also give weight to his own claims that she was setting her hooks in the Chocolatier after casting he (the poor suffering victim) aside in her blackmail plot.

He was so good - he should write for soap operas!

Still. The bitch had gotten filthy rich off of Wonka and he couldn't let that stand. Maybe getting Jim to file a civil suit for damages would help ease her of some of that cash.

His lovely hostess was guiding him to lay back on the bed and he mentally set aside his thoughts for the moment.

It was time to work.


	37. Chapter 37

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Yerg! I hate colds – fluids leaking from nostrils, gunk coughed up and losing one's voice all stink. One lighter note: I've got people calling my office convinced that the demon Pazzuzzu works there (not too far off really…) – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 37**

Christmas dinner with the Buckets reminded Veronica of happier times with her own family. The warm light from the fire, the soft music on in the background and time spent with people who honestly loved one another made for happy memories.

They had sat close all evening, relishing the casual contact and little looks that made them grin until Grandpa George finally rolled his eyes and huffed, "Will you two knock it off already? I'm already borderline diabetic thanks to living in a sweet factory, but you two carrying on is making me sick!"

"Dad. Stop it!" Mr. Bucket admonished, shooting them an apologetic glance.

Veronica blushed and excused herself to use the restroom, weaving through tight quarters to get to the microscopic water closet to throw some cold water on her flaming cheeks. When she came out, she saw Charlie slipping outside. Curious, she looked out the window to see him take a seat under the tall peppermint tree next to the chocolate river. The cheerful mask has slipped away from his face and he looked a bit lost.

Veronica was opening the door to slip out herself when Mrs. Bucket asked, "Where are you going dear?"

Hastily thinking, she replied, "I got a bit of a calf cramp – I'm going to walk it off for a moment." She saw Willy starting to rise and open his mouth when she minutely shook her head at him. "I'll be back in a few minutes, try to save a slice of mincemeat pie for me?"

She left the house and in the dim light that was a good simulation of moonlight, she followed Charlie's steps to the tree. He must have heard her coming up, as he turned to face her, the sad expression she'd seen from the kitchen once again concealed behind a façade.

Veronica said nothing and took a seat on the swudge by the dark haired teenager. She put her back to the tree and closed her eyes, confident that he would talk when he was ready. Charlie smiled and turned back to his contemplation of the thick swirls of chocolate along the riverbank.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yep. Just wanted a quiet moment," she replied.

From beneath lowered eyelashes, she could see his mask slip once again. Charlie looked profoundly confused and unhappy. She watched as he tore up a handful of the candy grass only to play with a few of the sprouts before sighing heavily and dropping them again.

Veronica counted three repetitions of this little play before his hesitant voice asked," So….you and Willy?"

Veronica carefully hid her expression, just saying in a neutral voice, "Yup. I don't think it's that big a surprise to you though."

"It's not…not really…" Charlie said, throwing more strands of swudge into the flow of chocolate. "I guess it was a bit of a shock that he'd actually go through with something like this. After all those years by himself…"

Feeling a little disjointed in taking Sherman's role in this conversation, Veronica found herself asking, "What shocks you about it?"

"I think it's because I got too used to the factory being the center of his little universe," Charlie admitted, finally facing her. "For the three years since we've moved in here, Willy's been my mentor, my friend, and something like a big brother. I guess I never really thought of him as a grown-up with…" he blushed, "you know….urges and stuff."

"And you're not sure how you're supposed to act about it?" She shrewdly guessed. "Let me tell you a little story about my own brother Reggie."

"I knew Reggie was gay for years before he finally came out and admitted it. It was just a part of who he is. For many years he was alone, working as a professional dancer on the stage, eventually working up to being a lead choreographer on the West End. It was just a couple of years ago that I noticed Spencer's name being brought into conversations more and more," Veronica smiled wryly.

"Then I actually met Spencer – and hated his guts!"

She smiled at the expression on Charlie's face, "I thought he was obnoxious, cavalier and wasn't taking Reggie's affections seriously. I was afraid he was going to break Reggie's heart. When they would show affection toward each other – it took a long time for me to get used to the idea,"

"It was only after Reggie got really sick and was in the hospital for pneumonia the winter before last where I realized that Spencer really did love Reggie. I think I felt the same way you do now – slightly squiked, nervous, and I will admit it…jealous."

Charlie blushed and looked at his feet, "I'm not really jealous…just worried."

"That I'll leave Willy a broken man? Or that I'll replace you in some way?" Veronica snorted indelicately, "No worries there – I have no interest in mass candy production – I am an artist first. As for leaving Willy a broken man..."

She reached out to stroke the soft hair that fell into Charlie's eyes, "I'm not going to lie to you, things may not work out between us, but I love him with all my heart. If we broke up, chances are I'll be the broken one."

Charlie nodded slowly, "I see that…but what about what happens if you two get married and have kids? Where is room for me in all that? Willy will have an heir of his own blood and I'm afraid…"

She was alarmed to see a few tears leak from the teenager's eyes. He brushed them away angrily, "Bugger…"

Veronica didn't want to see Charlie conflicted like this – he was such a sweet kid without the attitude or cynicism so predominant in teenage boys. Her heart ached for him.

"Charlie, may I tell you a secret?" she whispered, sinking her head to rest on her hands on her knees.

"Sure."

Veronica steeled herself – for Charlie's sake to put him at ease it was necessary to tell him.

"You don't have to worry about me ever having kids. When I was in college, I was attacked. Long story short I was hurt too badly and the damage to my uterus was too much – I had to have a hysterectomy or die."

"So, I chose life."

She heard Charlie's intake of breath but didn't look up.

"Willy may decide one day that he does want a child of his own, but I can never be the mother."

Charlie started at her. She was curled up with arms wrapped around her legs, staring blankly at her feet. He could hear the fear and regret in her voice as she told him and it made him ashamed of himself for feeling the way he did.

Veronica looked up at him, sharing a sad smile, "See? That's one worry down. As for Willy leaving you behind – he'd never do that. He loves you too."

Charlie braved leaning back and extending his arms to give her a hug. With slight hesitation, she did.

"Thank you. I do feel better now."

"Anytime Kiddo. You'd probably get back inside before they start looking for you," Veronica mentioned.

He climbed to his feet with the easy athleticism of youth and trotted down the path. She took a moment to dust the seat of her pants off and stared over the river. The thick smell of chocolate wrapped itself around her and she could feel the moist heat rising against her face.

How could a man who produced such miracles ever fall in love with her? He had created his own world, from the living breathing plants that filled this room with their delightful smells and taste, to the rich rainforest housing his workers. She wasn't even going to mention the rooms she had seen only in passing – the huge mountain of fudge that turned time and space on its head as it loomed like Everest in a room with no walls; the strange effects his candy that pushed aside the impossible and reached right through to the other side of impossible; and last but not least his creation – Wonkavite.

She'd thought him mad at first, holding onto such a precious creation for his personal use – the ability to push back time and aging…to live forever…and the millions of people who could make good use of this magic. Then she'd quickly realized why it had remained a secret – it was too precious. Who was to decide who would get it and who wouldn't? Wars and conflict would break out as soon as world hit the street that mortality was at an end. Ultimately, she had decided that it was not up to her to make such decisions and that Willy had done the right thing by keeping its existence a secret or risk the fall of civilization.

This was the power of Willy Wonka.

She was just a woman attempting to make it from one day to the next – never having the chance to look beyond her own myopic experiences. Veronica found herself suddenly thrust onto a much larger stage and here she was suffering stage fright.

Willy deserved someone who was capable of dreaming and succeeding on the same scale he was, not a nobody who up until he came along was incapable of fending for herself.

"That was kindly done," said a voice from behind her.

She gasped and whirled to see Willy stepping out of the shadows from a small embankment not too far from the peppermint tree where she and Charlie rested.

"You were eavesdropping," she said severely, turning to face the river again, crossing her arms in irritation.

He might have the abilities of a god, but he had the sensibilities of a 12-year-old.

"My factory, my right," Willy agreed coming to embrace her from behind. The tip of the cane dug into her ribs as he sank his head onto the curve of her neck where it joined her shoulder.

"I didn't think how Charlie would take all these changes," he admitted, his hair tickling her ear. "I didn't think about it and I should have."

"It's not something you can predict – between politics, long-term weather and the stock market – Teenagers are the most unpredictable source out there," Veronica said softly.

He sighed and hugged her closer – eyes scrunched close and a slightly pained expression on his face. "You didn't have to tell him you weren't able to have children. I know that's a painful topic."

Willy felt her tense, even as her voice had a forced edge of nonchalance to it, "Seemed like the best way to nip the issue in the bud."

He could feel her unspoken concern that he would still cast her aside for this flaw.

"Have I ever told you about my father?" He asked conversationally.

She shook her head and without releasing her, he sank to sit cross-legged on the ground, causing some awkward maneuvering and a few giggles on her behalf. Finally she was seated in his lap, looking up at his face.

"For most of my life, I was unable to even say the word 'father' without some bad flashbacks," he felt her tense in his arms, a worried expression on her face. "Oh no! Nothing like that – you see, he's a dentist."

She snickered, "Oh dear sweet irony."

He gave her a half-grin, "From such strange seeds, strange fruit grows. Anyway, as a dentist, let's just say I was subject to some of his dental experiments with braces. I went through school looking like I had a birdcage strapped to my skull."

"He was also fanatical that I never eat candy of any sort. My first forbidden taste was a piece of chocolate that escaped the fire grate the morning after Halloween when I was eight years old."

He found himself looking down into her deep emerald eyes in the dim light, the color almost eaten up by the dark pupil.

"One thing led to another, and I, in all of my pre-pubescent glory made an ultimatum, I was running away from home to learn to make chocolate from the finest confectioners in the world. He said, "If you walk out that door, I won't be here when you get back." Then I left."

Willy's face was blank, the violet eyes distant and sad, "I went around the block to the hall of flags and spent about fifteen minutes striding up and down the hall trying to figure out where I want to go first. Then I came to my senses and started for home."

"Willy – that sounds like something that most kids go through. It's part of growing up," Veronica protested.

"That might be – but the old man actually did it."

She was confused, "What do you mean? He wouldn't let you back in the house? What about the police?"

"Not only didn't he let me in the house, when I came up our street, our house – in the middle of the row - was just gone. There was an empty lot where it used to be."

Veronica gapped at him, "But that's…"

"…impossible?" Willy snorted with a bemused expression on his face, "Seems like I come into that ability quite honestly."

"What about your mother? Surely she had something to say about this beastly behavior of your father's?"

"I never met my mother. He would never talk about her - I don't know if she's alive or dead." Willy said.

They sat in silence for a moment before he continued his tale.

"In either case, thanks to Charlie making me face my fears, I was able to confront my father just a few years ago. He was so much smaller than I remembered…" he whispered. "So old and frail. I realized that the monster in the closet was just an old sweater throwing some funky shadows."

"Thanks to Sherman, I was able to finally forgive him and move on with my life. We were able to have some sort of relationship as a father and son before he passed away earlier this year."

She snuggled deeper, trying to offer what comfort she was capable of to ease the pain apparent in Willy's voice. "I'm sorry about your father."

"I didn't tell you this to get your sympathy," Willy said, taking her chin and gazing sternly into her eyes. "I told you this so you understand that when I find something as rare and precious as love – I've had to learn the hard way never to walk away or take it for granted. Some things are far too special to be left behind." He kissed her gently then, just a light caress of the lips but it felt like a lightning bolt to her.

"As for legacies? We sit in mine. I've already decided to pass my beloved factory to Charlie when he determines the time is right. Children were something I never considered and never wanted. If we wish to change our minds down the line, so be it. But for right now, all I want is you."

Veronica felt the tears well in her eyes and start to slip down her cheeks at his reassuring worlds. With a small cry, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. His love for her was palatable, and she returned it whole heartedly.

Willy nearly fell backward as she started kissing him wildly, "Whoa!"

She broke away with a laugh, "Sorry – nearly got carried away there."

"I'm not complaining. In fact, would you like to continue this upstairs?"

"What about the Buckets?" she asked, climbing off his lap to stand, admiring him in the soft light.

"I hope you don't thing me too presumptuous, but I already made our excuses for the night," Willy said, waggling his eyebrows brazenly. "I won't repeat Grandpa George's comments."

"You do presume too much, sir!" she teased, "What else do you presume upon?"

"I presume to take you upstairs, strip you naked and take time exploring every inch of your luscious body before making you scream with pleasure," he growled, pulling her close to plant a perfunctory kiss on her waiting lips.

"I guess that's alright then – as long as I get to do that thing…you know the one that turned your legs to jelly this morning and caused the rather spectacular bruise on your back when you hit the soap dish?" Veronica said cheekily, leading him by the hand back to the entrance of the Chocolate room.

A grin with a slight shudder was Willy's only response.

--

They spent the next few hours wrapped in each other's arms, gently exploring…touching…tasting. They discovered numerous little places on the other that made them convulse or aroused with a simple touch or humid breath.

Veronica climbed the peak of arousal several times, noting the childlike curiosity and joy in Willy's expression as he did something that made her moan or gasp. She was able to see the blissful expression on his face as she worshipped him with her body – relishing in the sensory banquet.

It was one final time, with slow smooth movements - unhurried and rolling in like the tide - that they were able to find that peak together, staring into the other's eyes as they moaned and gasped feeling their bodies join together and for a moment their souls touched. Willy felt like he was flying, burning into the heart of a star, his body locked and unbreathing at the intensity of their orgasm. He could feel her clenched around him, their bodies' slick with sweat as they thrashed.

It was with the greatest reluctance that they came back into their individual selves.

"Oh dear God." She breathed, throwing one arm over her perspiration dotted brow.

Voiceless, he had to agree. His heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest and his legs still felt numb with an exquisite sensitivity in other areas that had gotten a good workout.

"Are you sure you want to move out and leave all this behind?" Willy asked weakly, sitting up to grab a glass of water by his bedside and taking a long gulp.

"As of this moment? No. I need to be able to move my legs first. Tomorrow? Maybe looking online at some potential properties. I figure we could go up to the roof and see what is close by – then figure out what's available out of there." She said, forcing herself to sit up and swing her legs out of the huge bed to head toward the bathroom.

"Actually, I might have a solution to that," he called out, falling back into the bed.

The toilet flushed and he heard the sink run for a moment before shutting off. Veronica returned holding a damp towel out to him to clean himself up with. He did so gratefully, the sticky sensation making his skin crawl.

"I own several of the key properties next to the factory. We could take a look at those first. I have one in particular you might be interested in. It's got a nice bank of windows that overlook the dome in the Chocolate Room."

Veronica crawled back into bed to nestle up with him, resting her hand on his chest. "I don't want to take any more charity from you Willy. You've done more than enough for me."

"If it makes you feel better, I'd charge you and arm and a leg for rent?" He offered.

"I might be willing to accept that," she said, kissing him lightly before returning to her original position. "It the landlord a real bear? With all sorts of unreasonable demands?"

"Oh, he's the worst. He has a strict policy of behavior and won't tolerate shenanigans – very unreasonable."

"What about overnight guest?" she teased, drawing small circles on his stomach making the muscles dance and play.

"Won't tolerate them," Willy said, grabbing her hand to make her stop.

"Guess we shan't tell him then, huh?"

"Indeed."


	38. Chapter 38

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. I feel like the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland trying to catch up after being sick the past few days. Enjoy the tale. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 38**

Boxing Day came and went with a remarkable lack of anything exciting happening – that is, out of the ordinary for Willy Wonka's Marvelous Chocolate Factory.

Veronica and Willy spend a long day in exploration of some of the stranger rooms that had developed in the factory. They climbed about 2/3 the way up Fudge Mountain before deciding that fingers and toes were frozen and retreating for warmer fare. They collected Marshmallows from the candy marsh with the Oompa Loompa workers. Veronica found herself strangely attached to an early lamb from the flock of candy floss sheep – the knock-kneed creature with huge liquid brown eyes and just an light fuzz of pink wool just starting to come in followed her as they toured the pen. She leaned down to pet it often and Willy joked about letting it follow her when she moved into her apartment.

"I don't know, does the landlord allow pets?" Veronica asked mockingly.

"With a large enough deposit, I'm sure an agreement can be reached." Willy smirked, resting his hands on top of the ever-present cane. She noted that the only place he seemed comfortable not wearing gloves was in his bedroom.

Her contemplation was abandoned as she felt a warm wetness soak through her jeans and she looked down in disgust to the doe-eyed lamb in her lap, regarding her innocently. "Ew!" she groaned, gently shooing the creature back toward the concerned ewe waiting for it.

Veronica threw her hands up in exasperation, "See. Definitely not cut out for motherhood," indicating the pee-soaked clothing.

Willy was choked on laughter at her expression. "Okay – looks like a break is in order. Shall we repair to the master suite for some refreshments….of all sorts?"

She nodded and took malicious glee in rising and approaching him with open arms, "Oh hold me my darling! Hold me close!"

Willy skittered back grinning, easily avoiding her, "Um…No. Not while you smell like sheep pee."

Veronica grinned at him and pouted playfully, "So the magic is gone already. Alas! What is to become of me?"

They entered the Wonkavator and the close quarters concentrated the smell until they both were gagging.

"My love. I will follow you until the ends of the earth…at a good distance and outdoors preferably right now…"

As soon as the door was closed to her room, she shimmied out of the stinking clothing, much to the appreciation of her audience.

"How does turkey sandwiches sound?" he called as she bolted for the shower.

"Great," she shouted back, turning on the shower and hopping in.

Willy shook his head at her antics and lifted the handset of her phone dialing a number.

"Gigi? Hey! It's me….yeah….could I get a couple of your special turkey clubs? Cranberry sauce? You bet…," he quickly ordered and had just set the phone down when Veronica returned from the shower, casually clad in a towel, hair still dripping wet.

Willy felt his mouth go dry at the sight. _Amazing how we could go from complete isolation to such delightful casual nudity in a few days_.

She was ignorant to his admiring gaze as she shuffled through drawers and her sparse belongings. Grimacing she grabbed a tee shirt, cargo pants, under things and the ugly socks that somehow had made themselves hers.

"Please. Don't get dressed on my behalf," he drawled, falling across the bed with what he probably thought as a beguiling expression.

Veronica smirked; she thought he just looked slightly deranged.

"Somehow, conversations seems to come to a halt if I don't," she said, pulling on the underwear and pants under the towel. She turned her back to slip on the bra and shirt.

Willy just sighed as the long line of her back disappeared under her clothes, "Fine – be that way."

"Willy. I'd like to try and figure out what to do about the media and Victor."

That was enough to toss ice water on his libido.

"I think we have a firm enough grasp on Victor's sterling character to guess what he's up to," he mused.

She looked puzzled as she wrapped the towel around her hair in that mysterious way women could – he tried it himself could never get it to stay.

"How can you predict what he's going to do?"

"Easy – He's a reptile. He's always looking for the warmth of the spotlight and will climb over anyone or anything to get to it. Also like a reptile, he's the sort of guy who when threatened will use camouflage to hide until the threat passes."

Veronica smirked at the idea of her former employer as a lizard, complete with forked tongue, bad leisure suit and white platform shoes.

Willy saw this and screwed up his face and flickered his tongue out at her with a hiss making her giggle.

"Now this particular lizard in question, his environment seems to be Hollywood – a poisonous jungle if there ever was one. I'm guessing he was also the one to alert the media on you as well. Who knows how long they've been on your trail before catching up with you. More camouflage."

Veronica flopped next to him on the bed, "That makes sense – go on."

Willy rolled onto his back and tipped the top hat over his eyes before grasping his hands behind his neck – she was right, her proximity was distracting.

"Okay. Lizard-boy is under investigation by the police. He's throwing up a smokescreen to cover his tracks. From what you've told me, you aren't the only person he's played this little game with – so maybe the scope of the investigation is not just you – you're just the tip of the iceberg."

"We can ask Cavenaugh tomorrow. I was planning on contacting him anyway to find out if there was anything else I needed to do to make sure that Jake Manning person gets put behind bars," she said fiercely.

"So that makes you pretty high on old Vic's hit list – if he can somehow discredit you or keep you from testifying for the investigation, that saves his bacon and achieves his ultimate goal." Willy said, shooting her a serious gaze from under the rim of his hat.

"What's that?"

"Your annihilation. He's been trying to trash your reputation since you showed him up at the Food Network Competition. When you landed the contract with me and somehow he's found out about it? My dearest, you've put a bug the size of Godzilla up his butt."

He pushed his hat back and rolled to his side to face her, "As for the media. I can put you in contact with the head of my media department, she'll help you learn how to deal with a camera in your face if you want to go that route. Otherwise, maybe some sort of press statement telling people to mind their own business or something."

Willy sighed, "Sorry - that's really not my area. The paparazzi scares the Skittles out of me."

Veronica smiled at him, "The great Willy Wonka admits there's something he's not good at? Yikes! Isn't that the sign of the end of the world?"

"Aren't you just the comedian."

"In either case, I'm not going to let your name get dragged in the muck because of Victor. I'll fight to the death to keep that from happening," she said fiercely.

"I don't think things are going to go to those lengths - but the thoughts are appreciated. Maybe there's a way to turn this whole thing on it's ears that we're just not seeing yet. It's not like you can just challenge him to a duel to the death or anything."

There was a knock at the door. Willy shot up with a cheerful, "I got it! Me! Me! Me! Mine!"

He left her staring at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression on her face.

--

Cavenaugh sighed, closing the door to the chaos outside his home office. His wife's family was visiting from out of town and as much as he enjoyed their company in short doses, he was more than happy to slip away for a bit to the relative peace and quiet of his office.

He logged into the Scotland Yard database of previous cases to follow up on his hunch from a few days before. The haunted expression and scars on Veronica Carmichael added up to a victim of a previous crime.

With thick fingers more used to physical labor than typing on a keyboard, he entered her name and hit return. The progress bar said it was working, but thanks to the fact that all they could afford was dial-up on an honest cop's salary, it would be a few minutes before anything would come up.

Cavenaugh leaned back to stare at the ceiling, tossing a small ball made up of rubber bands from hand to hand.

The unofficial word from a buddy of his stateside managed to dig up some interesting tidbits on Victor Brahm. Born in Hell's Kitchen (Noo Yawk), he was a college drop-out who sheer will had managed to build a fairly successful catering business with offices in Los Angeles, New York, Houston, Chicago and Miami with an international office in London. There had been one or two reports of unfair business practices and Victor taking the credit for some jobs he hadn't done, but nothing really consistent until Carmichael came up.

Once the news that she and Wonka were linked hit the news, suddenly more calls were pouring in from more of previous employees making claims that Brahm had sexually harassed them, stolen their work and threatened them. One person even claimed that after threatening to go to the cops, they had been taken out back behind the dumpsters and viciously beaten.

Brahm was in a heap of trouble, and Cavenaugh had the sinking suspicion that he was trying to throw up as much of a legal smokescreen as possible. Bad news was, frivolous as they were, his countersuits still took precious time and energy. It could take years for the case to actually go to trial.

The computer beeped and Cavenaugh sat up to scan the page.

_Damn, I hate it when I'm right_, he thought sadly.

He glanced through the case history; _she was just a kid when this happened_.

Victim, aggravated rape, attempted murder…the list went on. He read with a sick feeling in his gut her testimony of how her attacker had kept her locked in his parent's basement and tortured her for two days before dumping what he had thought her lifeless body. Cavenaugh looked over the hospital pictures, seeing the shattered cheekbone underneath the spectacularly red and purple puffed skin; the split lip and the sliver of brilliant colored eye staring blankly at the camera from the ruins of her face. He focused on the pictures of her hands, blistered, blackened and the flesh warped from grabbing the hot poker.

She must have had to wear pressure gloves for years to keep her hands functional.

Cavenaugh forced himself to read though the testimony and the conclusion of the case. He then typed in the name of the convict in prison for attacking her and read with satisfaction that he had been killed in prison. _Too good for scum like that_.

She was a survivor – she'd faced greater adversity than that scum Brahm. He hadn't known what he was going up against when he picked her to try and move on.

It was a mark in her favor in his eyes. If she was brave enough to face down her attacker in court and damn him with her testimony, she'd easily be able to do the same with Victor Brahm.

Cavenaugh logged off with a grim smile. Especially when someone like Wonka has a vested interest in what happens to her and gives her all the support she needs.

He reflected on his impression of them in both interviews. Wonka was solicitous and obviously protective of her, and he had the feeling that her own resolve was like an iceberg – 99 beneath the surface. He could also sense the love between them, even if they weren't aware of it at the time. She'd fight like a mother bear if Brahm attempted to hurt Wonka in any way.

Satisfied with his homework, Cavenaugh shut off the computer. He had a good feeling about this case – it would go to trial and the bad guy would get what was coming to him.

Opening the door, he grabbed his youngest boy in a bear hug as the lad sprinted by. The boy screeched and giggled as his father tickled him and roared into his belly. The ugliness of the past hour faded as Cavenaugh concentrated on playing with his son. This was his life here and now. Time to put the rest on hold for now.

--

Willy and Veronica quickly polished off the sumptuous late lunch. Thick turkey sandwiches on home-made multi-grained bread piled with lettuce, tomato, cranberry sauce and mayonnaise and a surprise bite of cheddar and apple hidden in the meat. Tall glasses of milk topped off the perfect meal.

"Gigi really knows how to treat us right," Willy sighed, dabbing his mouth with the provided napkin.

Veronica nodded. She had only been able to eat about half of her sandwich before her complaining stomach intervened.

"Care to take a short walk to let our stomachs settle?" Willy offered. "I'm afraid that if I sit here after that I'm going to slip into a coma."

Veronica agreed, "How about the roof? Sometimes I feel like I can't remember what season it is."

Willy nodded and they both took a moment to stretch before Veronica grabbed her coat. Slipping it on, she asked, "How about you? Don't you need something?"

He smiled at her, "Ah, my dear. One of the many advantages to dressing in layers – eccentric as it might be perceived to many – it that it is also easily adaptable to a multitude of climates. Besides, after that little fiasco to the police station, I had to burn my coat."

She laughed, "Now I have an idea for what to get the man who has everything."

The large flat roof was covered with about four inches of snow that creaked and crackled under their feet. They paced around the central dome that covered the Chocolate Room. It was impossible to see inside due to the thick frost. The light lit their path and they strolled arm in arm enjoying the silence of the night and each other's company.

"You see most of the buildings there? I bought most of them right before I ended up closing down the factory. I thought that was where my competitors were spying on me from. By cutting off the opportunity for them to peek in, I had hoped that would be the last time my recipes got stolen." Willy said, "So much for that idea – I had no idea the rot was from within."

Veronica snuggled closer, "I'm sorry you had to go through that. I wish I could have been there to help you feel better."

"Hearing you say that does make me feel better."

They walked on in silence. Finally Willy drew them to a stop and pointed to one building that sat just across the street from where they stood, "See that bank of windows there? That's the apartment I wanted to recommend to you."

Veronica shrugged, "It certainly is close. I won't be able to say for sure until I get a chance to see inside."

"Oh, Come on! I'll change it to however you want it to be," he wheedled.

"Willy," she said in a warning tone.

"Fine! Fine. I'll be the unreasonable landlord and say, "No! No changes! Not even heat or running water!" There might be a raving band of luddites out there who may want to rent it instead."

"Thank you."

"But, only because it's you."

"Right."

"Can we go in now? I'm losing feeling in my nose." Willy pleaded, snuggling closer and shivering.

"Yes, only if you'll let me nurse you back to normal," she purred, running her hand under his coat and up his back.

He coughed in surprise at her cold hand, "Ohho! One of _those_ types of nurses are you?"

"Only if you want me to."

"In that case – Nurse Veronica, I am feeling distinctly chilled and need your tender mercies to bring me back to the full flush of health."

"Well then, Mr. Wonka, let's get you back inside and into a hot bath with my personal touch and a nice massage to follow. How does that sound?"

"Woo-Hoo!"


	39. Chapter 39

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. I'm beginning to wonder if anyone is reading anymore – no matter, I write because this story needs to get told. Shout outs only help the process along and may get a guest appearance in the tale. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 39**

Veronica awoke the next morning and slipped from the warmth of Willy's arms as stealthily as possible. He mumbled once and flung himself bodily over the pillows she had positioned to take her place. She took a moment to admire him; the bare pale skin gleaming like the finest marble in the morning light, the soft swells that defined his muscles at rest, the dark tousled mop of deep auburn hair that stuck up in a multitude of directions contrary to his every-hair-in-place persona while awake. She loved the softest shade of pink of his lips, relaxed and slightly parted with slight puffs of air and the incredible long dark lashes that shadowed his cheeks. It just wasn't fair that someone so masculine could have eyelashes that supermodels would maim an assistant over.

She placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and he sighed a bit deeper before clutching the pillows tighter.

Dressing quickly, Veronica tip-toed out of the room as quietly as any ninja and closed the door with aching slowness. Now that she was recovered from her over-exertion, she was back to being an early bird, no use making her lover suffer from her inability to sleep.

She made her way down to her room to shower and dress for the day. Her first task would be to contact Cavenaugh to ask what the progress of the case was. The second was to find Willy's media expert.

Veronica had a plan.

Brushing her teeth, she contemplated the long mop of hair that still hung heavy to the middle of her back. It was too long for the messy bun she had been so used to – she'd have to figure out something else for the time being. She spat the foam into the sink and gave herself a good hard once over. To make her plan work, some changes would have to be made.

She dressed carefully in the one pair of nice slacks and button up shirt that she had selected in her whirlwind spree. The boots were a little rough, but would have to do. She actually took a few moments to apply make-up before giving her hair a quick braid and tucking it up with a spare pencil. Still heavier than she was used to but not threatening to fall apart either. _It'll suffice_, she decided.

She grabbed her messenger bag and headed up to Willy's office.

The mess seemed to be a bit tidier than the last time she was there, but then again, maybe she was just getting used to it. Veronica dug out the phone from under a stack of inventory sheets, carefully replacing them on the visitor's seat before dialing. Being rerouted through the switchboard took a few minutes, through which she amused herself by finding a few spare sheets of Soduku to solve while listening to the bad 70's music that constituted being on hold.

"Cavenaugh," answered the detective's gruff voice.

"Detective! It's Veronica Carmichael," she jumped slightly, guiltily dropping the sheet she'd been working on.

"Ms. Carmichael. Good to hear from you. I suppose you're looking for an update?"

"Yes, please."

"First, I'd like to ask you a question," there was the sound of shuffling paper, "Why didn't you disclose that you were the victim of a previous crime when we first spoke?"

Veronica froze, ice water suddenly running through her veins.

"I wasn't aware I was supposed to," she stuttered; sweat breaking out on her palms and face. _What if they decided not to believe her because she hadn't?_

"I looked up your name as a hunch. Looks like the ol' gut knows what it's doing when your name came back as a named victim in a case against Marcus Preacher," Cavenaugh's voice was still mild, but there was a hidden edge that had a wave of panic threatening to overwhelm her. Veronica held her hand over the mouthpiece as she started to hyperventilate.

_No. I've fought past this. I'll not let it beat me again – not here and not now._

"Yes. I was involved in that case. However, it has no bearing on the present. I didn't disclose that information because I didn't think it was relevant. Was I incorrect?" she asked, surprising herself with how calm and reasonable her voice sounded despite how forced it may feel. Her lips felt numb and her fingers icy, but her voice hadn't betrayed her.

"No. I'm just wondering what else you may not have told me," Cavenaugh said.

"Nothing. Look Detective. Do you have an update or do you wish to interrogate me about the most terrifying and horrifying experience of my life?" she asked peevishly. Her anger pushed past the fear and made her strong.

"I apologize. I read through the file over the holidays and recognize what a formidable woman you are Ms. Carmichael. I was just wondering if Victor Brahm had any idea of this before he attempted to harass you?"

"I've done my level best to try and put that incident in my past, detective. I've made no mention of it to anyone I've previously worked for. Believe it or not, but I do maintain a standard for separation between my work and personal life," Veronica said stiffly.

Cavenaugh leapt on her slip, "Previously? So you have told Mr. Wonka then?"

Veronica flushed at the implication, "Not that it is any of your business, but yes. After our work contract concluded."

She could hear rapid scribbling in the background and felt her temper fraying.

"Just what did your work contract constitute, Ms. Carmichael?" he asked distracted.

"I need to clear that with the legal department before I answer that question Detective. I had to sign a confidentiality agreement before I started, but I will tell you that I was commissioned to make a spun sugar piece for Mr. Wonka," she said, dancing around the question. No way was she going to betray Willy's secrets.

"But that work had concluded, yet you still remain in the factory."

Veronica remained silent. It wasn't a question so she'd be damned if she would answer.

"Are you and Mr. Wonka involved in a personal relationship, Ms. Carmichael?" Cavenaugh asked bluntly.

"Is this going to get leaked, like my brother's wedding?" she shot back, infuriated.

"This is for my investigation. Nothing we discuss here will end up in the media."

"I want your word on that, Detective."

"Fine. You have it. So are you and Willy Wonka involved in a romantic relationship?"

Veronica sighed, this was the first of difficult questions she was going to be facing, so might as well face the problem head on.

"Mr. Wonka and I are romantically involved at the moment, yes," she sighed wearily. It felt strange to confirm it to the outside world, but if her plan was to take shape, this was only the first step in a line of many.

"When did this relationship begin?"

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. _How was this relevant_? "After I turned in my final work for his inspection on Christmas Eve. I did not feel it appropriate to address my personal feelings toward him until after my contract was up."

"I'm sorry to keep hammering this, but it does pertain to the investigation. So, just to be clear, you didn't engage in any personal relationship with Wonka while you were under his employ."

Mentally biting her tongue, she replied shortly, "That is correct."

Cavenaugh sighed, "Very good then. Now, as for the update to the investigation, Manning is pleading no contest and will get his day in court in about three weeks. If you wish to make an appearance, it's scheduled for 9 a.m. on Jan 12 down at the courthouse. Barring anything else happening he'll get his three years for arson and get released in about two and a half on good behavior. This is also barring anyone else coming forward to file charges…"

"Anyone else?"

She could hear the cynical grin on the grizzled detective's face from over the phone, "Yes. Apparently, this is not the first time that Manning claims that Brahm hired him to lean on an uncooperative ex-employee. There have been several other people stepping forward when the news broke of his arrest."

Veronica's mood greatly lightened with that news – others were taking her lead and taking a stand against the brute.

"On top of that – you may be required to make a trip over the pond to the colonies to California."

Taken aback, Veronica said, "I beg your pardon?"

"The Yanks are building a racketeering case against Brahm as well. I'll keep the details sparse as it's not my field or my investigation, but I will tell you that you are considered the primary witness against Victor Brahm and most likely will be called upon to testify against him in American court," Cavenaugh said. She imagined that he must look like a cat that had gotten into the cream.

"Dear lord!" she breathed, she'd never dreamed that things would turn out this way.

Willy was right – more than right. Under those circumstances, Victor was a dangerous man to her.

"Thank you Detective. I appreciate you taking me into your confidence. I'll keep this to myself," she said, finding a post it with only a few hearts scribbled on it and writing the court date on it with a purple pen.

"Between you and your boyfriend – I think you can count on him to stick by your side for support," Cavenaugh surprised her with a chuckle. "Frankly, you two remind me of me and my missus when we were young."

Blushing, Veronica said, "Thank you…I think."

"Keep in touch miss. Thank you for your help. Good luck!" Cavenaugh said politely before hanging up.

That was surprising, she thought to herself. Cavenaugh had her confused, running hot and cold from moment to moment. Still, he seemed to be on her side again…for the moment.

She stuffed the court date in her pocket and dialed a new number.

The phone rang a few times before a machine picked up.

"You have reached the residence of Reginald Carmichael and Spencer Talbot, please leave your message at the beep." Reggie's deepest, most intimidating voice growled over the phone – the sullen menace sending a chill down her back.

Spencer of course could not let that lie though, "Unless you're from some media outlet, at which point you can go bugger off. Ta darlings!"

Veronica choked back a laugh at the new message, "Good morning boys. Just checking in for the day. I see you are already at work, so I'll ring you back tonight. I've got my eye on a couple of properties – one in particular. I'll let you know about it tonight. Love you much! Bye."

Hanging up, she chuckled for a moment before pushing herself to her feet. Time to go track down the Media whiz and see if they would be able to help her with her plan.

--

It was well past sunrise by the time that Veronica tracked down the Oompa Loompa she'd been looking for.

"Sherman! Do you happen to have a sec?" she called to the small dapper man chatting with a group of workers in line at one of the cantinas throughout the factory. This particular one was close to his office and she had a feeling she'd managed to catch him on a break.

Sherman made his farewells and came over to where she waited, "Sorry to interrupt."

He sipped at his mug of hot chocolate and waved off her apologies, "Do not worry. I was just catching up on gossip. What may I help you with Ver-Oni-Ka?"

"Willy mentioned that he had a Media Relations person. Do you happen to know who that is?"

Sherman looked a bit puzzled, "Yes. But what do you have to do with her?"

Veronica quickly explained the media interest and the Shaman's face cleared of confusion, "I see. Yes, perhaps it is time for you to meet L.A."

"L.A.? Is she an Oompa Loompa? That does not sound like one of your names…"

"L.A. is herself – I will let her tell you her tale. Come, I will show you the way," Sherman guided her down the hall to one of the waiting Wonkavators. She momentarily wondered how there always seemed to be one waiting around the corner when she needed one. _Hey if she could accept whipped cream, coffee cream, strawberry cream and hair cream, why not a stalker Wonkavator_?

Sherman indicated one of the buttons for her to push. She peered at the small print in the middle of the wall of buttons and read, "TV Room." Shrugging, she pushed the button.

"You might want to hold on – we're taking the route through the jawbreaker shooting gallery," Sherman warned, grabbing onto her pant leg.

"Jawbreaker Shooting….oh good lord," she swore softly, looping one of her arms through the velvet loop and bracing her feet. They swerved and dropped into what seemed like a ten second free-fall. A small yelp escaped her and Sherman giggled. "Sorry. Habit." He apologized.

They plunged into a huge cavern lit by flashes of bright colored light and explosions. The Wonkavator shook with the shockwaves and she could see guns on either side seemingly taking aim at the moving target that they presented.

"Wait, are they going to shoot at us?" Veronica asked, her voice rising in alarm.

"Standard practice really. Don't worry – we're careful shots," Sherman said.

An explosion rocked the Wonkavator from inches away, she screamed and threw herself back.

Bright flashes forced her to close her eyes and she huddled in the protective circle of her arms and prayed that they would arrive safely. Explosions made her ears ring and she knew that she was whimpering with fear.

Finally they drew to the end of the gallery, no worse for wear.

Sherman patted her leg reassuringly, "See? No harm, no foul. We practice to ensure that when necessary, we can defend our home with lethal force. The worst that would have happened would be the Wonkavator would crack a bit and we'd be knocked off the track to the factory floor."

Staring at Sherman and his blasé expression when talking about plummeting to their death she had to wonder,_ maybe this is how they deal with no longer living with life-threatening predators following them – they make up their own death-defying stunts_.

"Let's not go this way again, please," Veronica said quietly, her face pale.

Sherman shrugged, "As you wish." _Strange outlanders_.

They came to a sedate stop and she gratefully jumped from the Wonkavator. Sherman indicated that she grab a pair of huge goggles to slip over her eyes. She did so as he selected one of the numerous smaller pair for himself. They entered the blindingly white room.

Veronica wondered for a moment if she had stepped from the factory to one of the various sets for Star Trek. The controls were all set up in a similar model and the ergonomics set up for the Oompa Loompas reminded her so strongly of the show that she unconsciously started humming the theme music under her breath. A huge screen dominated one wall and she knew it had to be based on the forward screen of the Enterprise

Sherman indicated that she should follow him to one of the doors on the far side of the room.

"You have the Comm, number one." She muttered with a snicker as she followed him, for the room in question was where the Captain's office would have been on the Next Generation – apart from everything being a glaring white.

They stepped into the room and Sherman indicated that it was safe to remove her goggles.

The room was a cramped office, stacks of newspapers and magazines reached to hip height in places and a Mac laptop computer rested on a normal sized desk.

What stunned Veronica was the woman sitting behind the desk.

"Good Morning Sher-Man-Ra, Ms. Carmichael – Welcome to the Media Department," she said in a rich alto voice.

L.A. was normal English sized. She stood about 5'2", about late twenties, with rich brown skin and sparkling black eyes. Her long black hair shone with blue highlights and was cut in a stylish bob around her sharp cheekbones. The woman was dressed in a sharp dark rose-colored suit with matching heels. She crossed her arms and bowed to Sherman.

Sherman returned the courtesy, "I leave her in your capable hands, L.A. See you tonight."

The smaller man left, leaving Veronica floundering in his wake. How was she supposed to work with this beautiful stranger? She suddenly felt cheap and underdressed in her Marks and Spencer sales-rack finery.

"Ver-Oni-Ka. Please sit. Tell me what brings you to my domain today." L.A. said, gracefully indicating a chair in front of the plain industrial steel desk. Unwittingly, she made Veronica feel more at home when she knocked a stack of newspapers from the chair in an attempt to make more space for her visitor.

"Sorry – I don't get many visitors back here," L.A. apologized. "I'm not exactly a clean freak."

"If you don't mind me asking, who are you? You have Oompa Loompa features, but you…"

"…Am about three and a half times taller than my father? Yeah...might as well get this out of the way." L.A. flung herself back into her seat and the chair groaned warningly. "Oh do shut up you old thing…anyway. My name is Llana Aloua or L.A. for short. I was one of the first of the tribe to attend school on the outside. I passed my competencies just fine in private testing and took one of Won-Ka's stretchy toffees to go to my first classes at the local University. Unfortunately, I had a bad reaction to the toffee and never went back down to my original size."

"I'm so sorry," Veronica said, slightly embarrassed at the personal information that L.A. chose to share.

"No biggie – I'm able to pass as normal on the outside and Won-Ka agreed to let me take the few occasional talking-head interviews for Wonka Industries. Dad's the one who's disappointed, but he's learned to accept me like this as well," L.A. said casually.

"Who's your father?"

"Oh, Sher-Man-Ra. He and mother say they are quite proud of me,"

Veronica adsorbed the information for a moment.

"Between us girls, I think Dad's just afraid I'm going to find a nice boy on the outside and take off. No worries there. I'm an old-fashioned girl at heart," L.A. said, smirking at the shocked expression on her face.

"Thank you for sharing that with me," Veronica coughed, embarrassed.

"No, thank you. As you can tell, I have no inner monologue."

Veronica laughed as L.A. cracked a wide smile - this was a woman she may like. Her open demeanor and frankness was refreshing.

"Now, as I understand it, you wish to do something about this press shit-storm that seems to have brewed up over Christmas. I've been monitoring the situation carefully and what started out as a rumor seems to be finding enough credibility to garner more legitimate inquiry outside the tabloids. If you wish to get involved, it would be wise to do so before too much longer," said L.A.

"I do want to get involved. Willy is afraid to face the media and I feel like this uproar is all my fault. If he hadn't taken me in after my apartment burned down, I doubt anything like this would have occurred," said Veronica sadly.

L.A. fluttered her hands and blew a raspberry, "Yeah, if wishes were cocoa beans, we'd be up to our ears. That's nonsense. This has been brewing for years thanks to Won-Ka's hesitancy to address the outside world. I want to know what started it all before I can help you."

Veronica explained in stark terms her previous working relationship with Victor and the resulting cascade of events that brought her to the factory.

"Yeah. I remember that footage – Won-Ka had me record a lot of the Food Network competitions looking for someone to hire. Now I know how that fit in. Victor looked like an asshole to me too, but the camera seemed to love him." L.A. mused, scribbling on a reporter's notebook.

"That's part of the problem. He networks better than he cooks and he used that against me. I want to hit him where it hurts," Veronica scowled.

L.A. crossed her long legs and looked at Veronica with curiosity, "What do you have in mind?"

She laid out her plan, conceived the night before out to the young woman. L.A. nodded thoughtfully and looked intrigued.

"Ooh. That's good – really good. I think I can help you." L.A. gave her an appraising stare. "Stand up – let's see what I'm working with here. You mentioned that your brother-in-law is a costume designer and your brother is a choreographer? They're probably going to need to get in on the plan."

Veronica stood and raised her arms to shoulder height before giving a slow twirl.

"Are you sure about this? Have you told Won-Ka what you're up to?" L.A. asked seriously.

Veronica nodded, determination set on her face, "This is something I can do for him. I wanted to make sure it was possible before talking to him about it. I get the feeling that he's going to try and talk me out of this."

The Oompa Loompa woman nodded, "I'll support you in your arguments. Even Won-Ka will have to admit this was coming for a long time. You're going to step up to be his champion in the public eye."

Veronica swallowed her fear and tilted her chin up proudly, "If that's what it takes, so be it."

L.A. nodded slowly and clapped her hands once with a decisive nod – impressed by Veronica's regal bearing, "Right. You've got good potential. I can get to work on you as soon as you're set…"

Veronica tripped over a pile of magazines and stumbled over yet another pile of newspaper trying to catch her balance, sliding to the floor and was quickly buried by the mountain of un-recycled paper.

L.A. grimaced, she'd known she had to clean out her office, but this was the utter limit.

She staggered to where the pale outlander floundered attempting to climb to her feet, "Com'on! Up you get."

There was work to be done.


	40. Chapter 40

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Sorry about the delay updating – I needed to make a deposit in the reality bank to ensure my check wouldn't bounce. This'll be a short chapter to wind me up for another series of chapters to be cranked out (but very significant for the rest of the tale)– Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 40**

It was late afternoon when Willy and Charlie caught up with Veronica. She was in one of the factory rooms dedicated toward packaging. Stacks of boxes and wrapping material were piled to the rafters. Loud music boomed from one of the many hand-held portable stereos that the Oompa Loompa liked to listen to while they worked. "Lady Marmalade" was on.

"5...6…7...8…Twist, turn walk…walk, turn kick kick…slide!" L.A. called, clapping her hands to the beat. The Oompa Loompas provided support as back-up dancers as Veronica did what could only be called a prowl as she strode with long strong legs ending in 4 inch stiletto heels, head tall, shoulders back. She strode down an imaginary walkway, sneered at the imaginary audience and then twirled to stroll back to her starting position. Only upon the return trip did one slight wobble mar her progress.

L.A. cut the music, "Good! No falls this time and only one slight wobble. Progress made!"

Willy and Charlie exchanged a glance before breaking into wild applause.

"Encore! Encore!" Charlie cheered.

"Ben cotto! Siete così bello fate la luna piangere con invidia!" Willy said, clapping enthusiastically.

Veronica blushed and pushed some strands that had escaped the braid back behind her ear, "Thank you – for whatever you just said. It was good, right?"

"Hi Won-Ka. Your lady has been making good progress. She's a natural," L.A. explained.

"Redhead? Well, yes, I know – but it's considered polite not to discuss," Willy said, ignoring L.A. furious blush to grasp Veronica's hands and kiss her lightly.

"Willy," she said warningly, her blush continuing to crawl across her face and doing her best not to look at Charlie's face.

"Okay – awkward moment here," Charlie said, edging toward the door.

"No! Wait. I need to talk to both of you actually." Veronica said.

L.A. took the hint and clapped her hands, "Okay boys. Let's leave the pale folk to their conspiring. I think we've picked up some great moves to show to Neville. Veronica, let me know when you're ready for the next step."

The workers and their tall counterpart walked out and made sure the door closed behind them. Veronica sagged to sit on one stack of boxes, gleefully kicking off the shoes, "God. To think women actually want to wear these bloody torture devices?"

"I dunno, I kind of like them," Willy said, following the long line of her legs up to her face with a slow smile creeping across his face.

"Willy, are you trying to tell me something else?" Charlie shattered his mentor's lecherous thoughts. _This was payback for the redhead remark_, he thought gleefully. "Would you like to track down a pair in your size?"

"What? No….ew!" Willy grimaced at him and Charlie and Veronica laughed.

"It's part of my master plan," She confessed, sitting cross-legged on the box. "I've got an idea to get rid of Victor once and for all, get the media off your back and help both our businesses respectively."

"You're getting all that from Lady Marmalade?" Charlie asked, taking a seat.

"Not exactly. I'm not quite sure how to start, so if things sound muddled, please forgive me." Veronica hesitated. "Willy – you've been out of the public eye for quite a while now. I understand why you avoid the media if that was just a taste of what you've been going through."

"Veronica, what's on your mind?" Willy asked suspiciously, he fiddled with the head of his cane, getting a sinking feeling.

"Victor is after me because he thinks I've stolen his spotlight. I propose to challenge him for the right to it."

"Huh?" both men said in unison.

"My plan is to start undertaking some good public works of charity – donating some of my work to charity events with fundraising opportunities to use the press to bring attention to their causes as well as with us. If I get the media attention and with your permission to talk about our collaboration for the candy globes, I intend to push Victor to confront me. From there, I plan to challenge him to rematch in the same arena as before – the Food Network Confectionary Competition. He won't be able to back out without losing face, but there's nothing he can do but lose to me in the kitchen," she said triumphantly.

Willy was aghast at her mad plan, "Are you out of your mind?"

"He doesn't dare confront me in public – think about it, everything he's done is underhanded and done in such a way to make him look like the good guy. I'm tearing down that façade and making him choke on it," she said viciously.

"Actually – I think it's a good idea. I want to help," Charlie said thoughtfully.

"Charlie! Not you too! It's madness – they'll eat you alive," Willy yelped, regarding his apprentice with mounting horror.

"Willy, I've done nothing but hide since winning the golden ticket. If I'm to ever take over running the factory, I need to learn to deal with the hyenas. I'll stand in for you as the public face of Wonka Inc. at these events, Ms. Carmichael," Charlie said, sounding far older than his 15 years.

"Charlie, what will your parents say?" Willy said, trying to sound reasonable, but the edge of panic in his voice offset the impression.

"They've been saying I needed to get out for a while and that this was the right thing to do."

She offered him a bright smile, "Any guy escorting me to these dog-and-pony shows that L.A. has in mind gets to call me Veronica. Thank you Charlie."

"I think you're both nuts," Willy said disgruntled.

Veronica launched herself to her feet, getting angry with him, "Oh really? So when I faced up to my fears with your help, was that nuts too? When I want to do the same for you, you call me insane? That's rich."

"Jumping from a moving car in the middle of traffic is nuts too – and that's the level of danger you're putting yourself into. Victor's a dangerous man, what makes you think he'll jump at the chance to humiliate himself in public?" Willy snarled, pacing back and forth angrily.

"Because I'm going to tempt him with the biggest plum in the universe," she shot back.

"What's that - your life? I love you too much to let you throw yourself away like this."

"That's what I'm counting on."

Willy paused, looking over his shoulder with a puzzled expression on his face," I beg your pardon?"

"Victor doesn't want me – never has. He wants you," Veronica sighed, sagging back to lean against the boxes, "Victor will meet my challenge for the opportunity to work for you."

"But I'd never hire him. He's a fool," Willy said, still looking confused.

"But he doesn't know that," Charlie explained, seeing where Veronica was going. "He thinks that you and Veronica are just business associates – or that she's just using you to get ahead."

She nodded, "So, If I claim to terminate my contract if I lose and give him the job, there's no way he can resist."

Confusion clearing, Willy was still aghast, but also mildly impressed with the boldness of her plan.

"What if you lose?" he asked in a small voice. "I'm not giving you up, no matter what that idiot thinks."

Veronica tentatively approached him, sensing that her argument was winning, "I would never leave you either. There are few things in life that anyone can know for certain. Things I know as absolutes are 

taxes, death, our love, and the fact that I can kick Victor's fanny from here to New Mexico in any spun sugar competition in the world."

She slipped her arms around him to embrace him from behind, breathing in his peanut brittle musk.

"Please. Don't push me away now that I finally have the strength to stand up to this monster. I love you Willy – but I'm going through with this."

She felt his hands come up to cup her own and he leaned his head back with eyes closed against hers. For a long moment they just stood there. Charlie held his breath, afraid to break the mood.

Willy struggled with his heart and mind. His brain could see that this was an elegant solution to their problems, but his heart was screaming at him with fear for her and Charlie – at going out in the world and being devoured – leaving him in his fortress of solitude once again.

If this was just a fraction of the fear that Veronica had dealt with during her panic attacks, maybe he was underestimating her.

What if now that she was finished with the project and went out into the world, she met someone else and abandoned him?

What if Victor found a way to kill her?

What if…

…_trust your heart_, said an echo of Sherman's voice.

"Alright. But I want to know what's going on every step of the way. Wonka Inc. will be your official sponsor for the competition when we get to that point. I'm terrified for you – both of you- but I have faith in your abilities," Willy said at long last.

He clutched her hands suddenly and whispered in a lost tone, "Please…just be safe and come back to me."

"I'm not going anywhere," Veronica murmured into his back, using her body to project how much she loved him and appreciated him taking this huge step to face his fears.

"So I need to start taking lessons with L.A. as well then?" asked Charlie.

"Afraid so Kiddo. Don't worry, I don't think she'll be too bad," Willy sighed heavily and released Veronica's hands to turn to face his heir.

"Just pray she doesn't make you wear heels too."


	41. Chapter 41

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Thanks again to my Beta Yva for all the supportive words and good swift kicks to the rear when I lag behind. Thanks also to Tupik-Ra for his kind support. I can't help but notice the stalwart lawyer getting a little red around the cheeks and ears when mention of L.A. came up…a little romance there? – Stealth Phoenix_

_**Warning: Adult content ahead – should you find offense in adult sexual behavior, skip ahead. You have been warned**_

**Chapter 41**

Charlie was feeling excited. He was nervous, but happy with the idea of finally facing his intrusive shadows face-to-face. School was out until after the New Year and Willy grudgingly agreed to let him take a few hours a day to work with L.A. to get him ready to face the wild press head on pending parental consent.

"If you two co-conspirators don't mind, I'd like to watch a few times," Willy said, surprising them both. "I'd like to figure out what you hope to learn from L.A. that you think will help you." His extreme skepticism was apparent from his voice.

Charlie grinned at his mentor, "You make it sound like we're the Christians going out to face the lions."

"You are. I just feel like the janitor expected to go out and clean up the mess once the slaughter is over," the Chocolatier said grimly, strangling his cane with squeaky jerks.

Exchanging a knowing glance with Veronica, Charlie left them to go speak with his parents.

Willy looked slightly sick. She could tell by the achingly precise way he held his body that he was tense with worry. Veronica considered the multiple ways to help him relax and get him to talk to her.

"Willy you need a break – come with me," she ordered suddenly. Grabbing his arm, she marched him out of the packaging room and into the Wonkavator. Pushing a button she'd noticed the other day during Willy's tour, she turned and slipped her arms around him, pulling him close and willing his body to relax.

Reassured by her willing affection, he unbent enough to return her embrace. He buried his nose into the top of her head and inhaled her flowery scent, relaxing further. The thoughts whirling through his head slowed and he was finally able to focus on one thing at a time.

"Veronica," he said softly, only to be silenced but her finger on his lips. He looked surprised, and then smiled slightly when her lips replaced her finger, "Not yet. Let's take a break for a little bit before we re-approach the topic."

They arrived at their destination – one of the multiple shipping bays that led out to the loading dock. Huge slides and pipes broke up the spaces of the ceiling and trampolines covered the floor leading to the conveyor belts. Boxes and bags of candy flew down the tubes to bounce off the trampolines to a finely calculated angle to land perfectly on the appropriate conveyor going to the delivery trucks. With the whole room going, boxes, bags flew through the air in all directions, seemingly miraculously never colliding. It was like being in the middle of a massive food fight with no casualties. She was proud of Willy for coming up with such an ingenious non-conventional way to get his products on the trucks.

Pulling Willy by the hand, she led him down the narrow walk-way as boxes and bags of all shapes and sizes flew within a few inches of her head – a bright yellow line showing her the way. If someone of their size got off the line, they'd be bludgeoned to insensibility with flying merchandise within two steps.

There was one tube and a large trampoline cordoned off toward the back of the bay. Yellow and black safety ribbon indicated that the trampoline was off-line for repairs. The trampoline itself was returned to the original angle - parallel to the floor. Kicking off her shoes, she hoisted herself up to bounce gently on the trampoline.

"Come on – play with me," Veronica invited, bouncing higher, a smile of pure joy on her face.

A grin breaking out on his face, Willy dropped his cane and carefully removed his beautiful plum velvet coat. He knelt and removed the black ankle boots, unzipping them to reveal crazy green and yellow polka-dotted and striped sox and arranging the boots next to the neatly folded coat just so. Then, with a surprisingly athletic gesture, he used both hands to vault up to the trampoline with his hat still firmly placed on his head.

"How did you know that this is one of my favorite ways to unwind?" he asked, bouncing as high as he could. She struggled with the recoil on the other end, but after a moment's adjustment, they bounced in unison – propelling themselves high in the air.

"Lucky guess, really. A single male of your age and temperament? I could only think of two things – and since you indicated that the other wasn't a popular option…" she leered at him for a moment, making him blush, "Jumping on a trampoline was my conclusion."

She attempted a flip, ending up landing flat on her back with a surprised bark of laughter as she was flung back into the air. Willy calmly executed a perfect double flip and a double-axle twist on the rebound. "I practice a lot," was his explanation.

Veronica was laughing too hard to pull off anything as spectacular, but she did get a laugh out of him with what she called her 'flying Buddha' sitting cross legged in a lotus meditation pose while still bouncing in the air – if seen at the right moment it looked like she'd reached a moment of Nirvana and levitating.

They bounced for a long time – doing silly poses and generally attempting to duplicate some of Hollywood's best special effects. Willy did a particularly accurate mid-air strike straight out of "Matrix" and she tumbled to the trampoline with a grunt. She pulled herself to her feet again as he serenely waited with a smug expression – hat still firmly placed on his head.

"That hat has got to go," she announced, making a bouncing lunge to grab his it.

Willy dodged and bounced away, giggling at the mock-irritated expression on her face. Veronica chased him in circles, one hand holding his hat the other flailing to help him keep balance. Thinking ahead, she bounced hard and managed to tackle the hat off his head in mid-air, flying over his head in the process. She landed in a roll and sprang up to her feet with a triumphant cry, "Aha! Mine!"

Rather than wasting breath on protesting, Willy launched himself in a flying tackle – the same maneuver she'd just done. Veronica tried to lunge out of the way, but moved the wrong way and was caught in a bone-crunching tackle – her head met the trampoline frame with a hollow thud. The blow made her see stars for a long moment.

When the stars cleared, she was lying on her back, Willy's concerned face hovered above her- he was saying something, but the ringing in her ears drowned him out.

"…onica? Come on sweetheart. Are you in there?" his voice came back, tinny-sounding like he was down the hall talking into a tin can.

"Mine?" she asked groggily, still clutching the hat between them. The poor thing was crushed beyond recognition.

He sighed with relief and sat up, "Are you alright? You hit the side pretty hard."

"Yeah – just knocked me for a loop for a second," she apologetically handed him the mangled hat. "Sorry – we seem to have a casualty."

Willy took the hat with a forlorn expression, "Aw, man! It was one of my favorites." He took a moment to try and bend it back into position, but gave up and placed the tortured haberdashery back on his head. She giggled at the sight – an offended Willy Wonka wearing his mangled trademark hat.

He growled at her and crawled over to straddle her prone body, "Look at what you did. You've been quite the naughty girl."

Breathless with laughter, she replied saucily, "Yes, I am a naughty girl. What do you plan on doing about it?"

"I might have to punish you," Willy said, an evil glint in his bright purple eyes. Without further warning, he attacked. Nimble fingers found her secret spots – making her laugh and curl into herself like a shrimp. She did her best to wiggle away, but the bloody trampoline defeated her efforts, being too slick to push away and too bouncy to get any leverage to flip him off.

"M..me…Mercy!" she giggled, tears streaming from her eyes, breath coming in hard won pauses in between the relentless tickling.

Willy laughed down at her too. Her face was flushed pink and she panted heavily from the exertion. Veronica's tousled hair was a mess around her face and eyes were bright olive green with merriment. Finding her irresistible at the moment, he leaned down to collect a slow kiss. Comfortable there, he stayed for a while, lips prodding hers open and tongue lazily brushing against hers.

She reached up and brushed the fly-away hair back from his face and fingers tangled themselves at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.

Slowly, he stretched his body along hers, delighting in the slender strength inherent in her frame. Her smooth curves fit perfectly against his own hard lines. He cradled her head and followed the line of her throat down to the area just behind her left ear and breathed a warm puff of air against the sensitive skin, delighting in her shiver of arousal. It was one of the little things he glorified in learning about her during their explorations.

"What am I to do with you?" he asked, voice darkened with emotion. Her response was to arch up hard, pressing against him urgently, "God…your voice," she groaned. His voice vibrating against that spot went straight between her legs.

Willy felt himself harden against her, "You know what I'd like to do with you?" he said in his lowest voice, pitching it intimately to reach her ears alone.

He proceeded to tell her in graphic detail, his most primal self taking dark pleasure in making his mate write in wanton desire against him using only his voice. Her movements grinding against him with almost mindless arousal almost made him take her right then and there – but he wanted to torment her a bit further.

Willy's hands snaked under the thin tee shirt she'd been wearing to caress her soft skin. It wasn't as erotic for him since he was still wearing his gloves, but the friction of the latex pulling at her skin with the warm hands underneath caused the breath to catch in her throat. He rolled her suddenly to lie flush on top of him and he took the opportunity to slide his hands down to cup her bottom and squeeze the tender flesh.

Veronica reared back and with hands quicker than thought he darted up to jerk the tee shirt from her body. She blinked in shock and found herself rolled under him once more, his body scooting down to attack her breast cased in their frilly armor, his long thigh grinding against her center in harmony with his movements. Helpless, she fell back with a whimper.

"You have been such a naughty girl - you need to be punished. You're going to lie there at take what's coming to you without question or complaint. Understand?" Willy said, pausing in his ministrations to look up the line of her body to her lust-glazed eyes.

"Yes sir!" she breathed, looking down at him.

"Sir? Hmm…I kinda like that." He mused, before returning to his attack.

Willy's strong white teeth nipped at the exposed flesh while gloved hands pushed the straps of her bra down, exposing her to his greedy eyes. She gasped and arched into him as his hot mouth sucked on one achingly pointed nipple. His teeth played with the hardened nub and she sobbed as the sensation drove her up the long slippery slope of ecstasy. While she was safely distracted, his hand trailed down the soft plane of her stomach to the clasp of her pants, deftly unfastening them before sliding inside to gently trace her outline against her panties.

The slope of arousal suddenly felt more like a roller coaster as she jerked against him, attempting to sit up, to slide away to do anything to escape from the intense sensations rocketing through her.

Willy calmly held her down, moving smoothly from one breast to the other with his mouth making her fall back to the trampoline surface with a cry. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the smooth skin under his lips soft and pliant, the hot warm center under his hand practically begging with the aborted thrusts of her hips as he held her immobile. He could feel her wetness even through the glove. Willy slowly slipped his fingers under the band of her panties to delicately stroke her, nudging her turgid center of pleasure before slipping two fingers inside her molten depths.

She almost bucked him off as she screamed, her orgasm taking her with vicious force. He stroked inside Veronica a few times as the frantic flesh clung and wrapped itself around his fingers. He loved watching her face as she came – the almost pained expression, parted lips and wide bright green eyes staring into his blindly as she tore apart under his touch.

As reason returned to her eyes, he made sure she was watching as he stroked a few more times before removing his damp fingers to slowly suck the tips into his mouth, relishing the flavor of her even as her eyes darkened once again with renewed arousal.

He leaned up to kiss her, her hands finding purchase on his shirt as she returned his kiss with frantic force. Veronica could only gasp, "Need you. Please?"

Not waiting for an answer, she pushed him to roll over so she could rip open his vest and shirt with scarcely contained frustration, sending buttons flying around the room. She slid down his long legs to tug at his belt. Feeling his own arousal rise, he quickly helped her, his clever fingers finding the buttons that held his pants close and releasing them. Her scarred fingers burrowed inside and it was Willy's turn to gasp and arch as she released him from the constrictive clothing and plunged her hot mouth around him.

"Dear God!" he groaned as he felt her tongue caress his engorged flesh. The sight of her wild hair bobbing down around his hips, lips wrapped around him, watching his reactions carefully almost sent him over the edge. She applied a little suction and he found himself bolting upward and pulling her up with urgent need – he wanted to spend himself inside her, not in her mouth.

"Clothes…off…now." He panted, not recognizing his own voice. He pushed her back and pulled at the waist of her pants, drawing them and her panties off and tossing them over his head as he fell upon her.

"Inside…hurry!" she pleaded, grabbing his still clothed hips and yanking him close to rest his manhood against where she needed it the most.

Willy suddenly brought himself up short, pulling back to tease her – wagging one finger in front of her nose as she whined and bucked up in an attempt to draw him inside. "What have we learned from this little lesson?" he asked, eyes dark with need.

"Willy – I need you…" she begged, but he wouldn't relent, "God, you're an arrogant prick."

Entering her a fraction of an inch, he drew back as she tried bucking again, "Flattery will get you nowhere. We won't mess with Mr. Wonka's hat again, will we?"

"Willy…" she growled, then groaning as one hand came down to play with the center of her pleasure.

"You won't mess with the hat again. Right?"

"Yes….anything you say. God…" she writhed against him, the pressure growing too intense for him to control for much longer.

"What's the magic word?" he asked in his deepest voice, allowing himself to slide forward another fraction of an inch, the hot wet heat of her making his sight swim.

"Please!" Veronica screamed.

"Good girl." He said, thrusting home.

Willy let himself go – let go of the rational mind that was too much of a burden at this point. He lost himself to the intense heat, pressure and moisture that clamped itself around his member. The wonderful friction as he slid home again...again…again. Making sure to lock eyes as the rising heat drove through his lower back and from his chest – he screamed as his orgasm shot through him. His muscles locked as he helplessly thrust home again, banging into her with painful intensity. With exquisitely sensitive nerves, he could feel her lock around him again and then she too was screaming her completion, body bucking against his. Weakly, he helped prolong her pleasure with a few irregular thrusts and she moaned high and lost in his ear as she clenched again.

When he regained his senses, they were both still panting. He looked up and was shocked to see tears streaming from her eyes, "You're crying. Did I hurt you?"

"No. I'm fine. Just an emotional overload," she smiled, even as more tears streamed from her eyes, "I feel like I've been pleasantly electrocuted."

Rolling off her he asked, "That's a good thing, right?"

She snuggled up to his side and threw one leg over his, still clad in his pants, "Dear God, yes."

Willy relaxed, enjoying the respite. Relaxed and content with this beautiful woman by his side, he closed his eyes and hummed in happiness.

"So, do you feel better now?" she asked, resting her head on his chest.

"Oddly enough, yes. Who knew?" he smiled, looking up in to the dark tunnel above their heads.

They lay there, recovering their strength for a long time.

"Now that you're better relaxed," she said with a quick wink, "What were you going to say earlier?"

"I'm scared for you and Charlie, but I recognize that this is something you have to do," Willy said at last, tracing small circles on her shoulder. "I know that this is a fear I have to face – losing you two to the world outside. I'll do my best to work it out with Sherman."

"Us too. We love you, don't cut us out of the loop and I'll make sure that we don't do the same to you." She said, hugging him close. "I love that you're willing to put yourself through this kind of hell for us Willy. I love the fact that you're strong enough to face that you are afraid without trying to bluster your way through it."

"With your sterling example for courage, how could I do any less," he said simply.

"No matter what happens, I'm not going to leave you. I've waited my whole life for you, I'll be damned if Victor will drive me from your side. You're mine and I fight for what's mine." Veronica said, leaning up to meet his eyes.

"I love you Veronica Carmichael," Willy said kissing her once more, "You're mine as well. I'll defend you to the death if necessary."

"I prefer if you live thank you very much," she said tartly, sitting up and scrabbling around for her clothing. The bra was still wrapped around her waist, the shirt was retrieved from its crumbled pile on the edge. Where had the pants gone?

Willy finally sat up as she crawled around the edge of the trampoline looking for her lost pants – charmed by the sight as she crawled by. "I think they might have been launched to one of the trucks," he said bashfully.

Willy tucked himself back into his clothing and did his best to restore his appearance – the shirt and the vest were lost causes since most of the buttons were gone.

"I can make some sort of skirt out of packing material, maybe duct tape to keep your shirt together until we can get some new clothes?" Veronica asked with a grin.

"Nah…I can pull off the decedent rock star look until I get back to my room. You on the other hand…"

Willy took off the vest and pulled on his velvet jacket, the hat he just replaced on his head…he was right, it was kind of a decadent rock star look with his pale chest gleaming in the dark colors of his clothes, the sprinkle of dark hair leading down into the waistband of his pants. To her eyes he looked…delicious.

Okay…some black plastic tarp and some silver duct tape…she cut a short length of tarp to wrap around her waist, then used the duct tape for both functional and decorative purposes. Within a few minutes she had a function and fashionable mini-skirt. Slipping the stiletto heels back on she struck a pose, "Ta-da! What do you think?"

With the tee shirt and black miniskirt paired with the heels, Willy had to admit she looked stunning, her legs were mile long and the pale skin shone against the dramatic black of the modified clothes, "Look out world – here she comes. Hands off though, she's mine!"

Arm in arm they strolled out of the packaging room.

--

It was later that afternoon that found Charlie, liberated from his parents for the afternoon, Willy and Veronica freshly showered and clothed, working with L.A. in the hallway by the front entrance.

The Oompa Loompa woman was a harsh task mistress – she prodded and wheedled Veronica into standing straight, walking tall and to practice moving.

Charlie was poked and prodded similarly, although he was used to the pointed reminders since he often heard the same things from his grandparents.

Willy just sat on a stool and smirked at them. For the one demonstration that L.A. had asked for, he had pulled off faultlessly, strolling tall and proud, seeming without a care in the world.

L.A. saved her razor-sharp tongue for Veronica, "For Al-Oha's sake woman! You're a human being not a gorilla, keep the arm swing down. You're not boxing!"

"I can walk you know – I've been doing it for a while." Veronica huffed, rolling her eyes.

"No – you shuffle. I'm getting you to actually stroll, walk, glide or whatever descriptor you want to slap on it. All this needs to be second nature before you get ambushed again. I saw the footage of you on E! last night, the only time you looked good was as you sprinted away." L.A. said unrepentant.

Veronica stopped, "You have footage? Can I see?"

L.A. bent over the ever present laptop and pulled up a file. She double clicked and turned the screen to face everyone.

Veronica watched in stony silence – wincing at how the various cameras flashed in her face. She looked washed out, eyes huge with terror.

L.A. pointed out, "See – the way you move to avoid being accosted? Your whole posture screams "Prey". Paparazzi are pack hunters – if they sense weakness they close in for the kill."

Willy had to agree with the whole animal analogy – when she broke free and sprinted down the street, her meek persona had fallen away and she ran with a certain animal grace – like a gazelle being chased down by jackals.

"Okay – I get what you're aiming for. What about actually facing them and talking on camera?"

"You're not ready for that much yet. I need to get you a makeover first." L.A. said, scribbling rapidly in her notebook. "I'm going to book you with my stylist – he'll take care of your hair and make-up and teach you what you do to maintain it. After that, I'll take you downtown and we'll pick up some good pieces for your wardrobe."

Sensing the dead silence, she turned to face the horrified woman, "What?"

"Hair? Make-up? What am I, a Barbie doll?" Veronica was frozen. This thing was starting to avalanche on her. She shot a pleading look at Willy who only shrugged.

"Barbie only has to look good. You have to move and sound good too," L.A. pushed Veronica into a seat and knelt on the floor facing her. "You are stepping into a large public role. These are the weapons by which you launch your attack. Going into battle unarmed only leads to resounding defeat."

Veronica curled up into herself, she was tired and being picked on constantly was grating on her nerves, "I've had enough for today."

Charlie did his best to emulate his mentor as he strolled a few more times up and down the long length of the entryway, his body was held too stiff though and he was too self conscious. L.A. picked on him a bit more before he too conceded defeat for the day.

"No skin off my nose – it'll give me time to pull together a time table we can work with. Let me know what your professional appointments are going to be…actually you need an assistant. Might I ask one of the tribe to stand in for you in that function?" L.A. asked politely.

Veronica's head whirled – make-over, media training, apartment hunting, assistant?

"Um…," she shot another glance at Willy and read his minuscule nod, "...yes?"

L.A. crossed her arms and bowed, the effect oddly contrary with her sharp appearance, "You got it. Send me a runner and let me know the next time you want to meet." She efficiently gathered her laptop and her notebook and was gone in the blink of an eye.

"Well, I feel like I've been hit by a hurricane. How about you?" Charlie said stretching.

"Yarg," Veronica agreed, slipping off her shoes and rubbing her sore feet.

"L.A. knows her stuff – follow her lead and she'll steer you clear of trouble," Willy said.

"That may be, but…ouch!" Veronica bemoaned, prodding a fresh blister from the shoes.

"Those look pretty painful," Charlie said sympathetically.

"I'm spending tomorrow morning looking at new places to live – that'll buy me a break for a little bit, but tomorrow afternoon we should meet back here," Veronica said, trying to plan her day out loud.

"Charlie and I need to check up on operations and get back to the inventing room, who's going with you to look?" Willy asked.

"I can get L.A. to join me and I'll meet up with Reggie or Spencer….shit! I need to call them back…" Veronica swore, jumping to her feet and hobbling as quickly as her feet would let her.

"Meet you later?" Willy said, trying to conceal his smile at her pained expression.

"Yeah, sure," Veronica grimaced.

"Soak your feet! According to Mum, being beautiful is a pain," Charlie called out helpfully.

Judging from a certain ache in her personal anatomy that made her eyes gleam with memory, the throbbing of her feel and the stress headache building behind her eyes, she must be simply radiating beauty, she thought sarcastically. If supermodels felt like this all the time, no wonder they were notoriously short tempered. _If men knew what we did to ourselves for them…_

"Man, I feel like a woman," Veronica snarled.


	42. Chapter 42

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 42**

After Veronica left, Willy and Charlie resumed their inspection of the various rooms in the factory. Although the choices always seemed random, Charlie had learned that his Mentor was in fact quite organized. Today happen to be following the trail of the chocolate pipes as they ran from the river throughout the factory.

"Get got that gosh-darned stubborn leak fixed in the Chocolate room, but I'm still not 100 percent satisfied that the problem is fixed. Remind me again to send the Gloop family the bill for the damages," Willy grumbled, stepping off the ladder from closely examining one of the shut-off valve seals from the clear plastic piping.

"Now Willy, I thought we had talked about this – Augustus didn't mean to gum up the works. We can't charge them for an accident," Charlie said soothingly, a smile creeping across his face. This was an oft-discussed topic when the piping inspections were going on. It had been nearly four years now since Augustus Gloop had gotten stuck, but in Willy's mind it was always just yesterday.

"We can try – the pressure surge cracked nearly every junction in the factory. I was bleeding chocolate for weeks," The taller man said, folding the ladder and returning it to the room foreman who directed the small team of workers to stow it again.

They continued to the next room, this time Charlie was directed up the ladder. Willy walked him through the inspection process, discussing what to look for and guiding the teenager through a discussion of piping material, tensile strength and the illuminating explanation of how what he was learning in school about pressure actually applied to what he was currently working on in the factory.

"Huh…so that's what Mr. Gilicuddy meant by PSI. I kind of understood what he was saying, but I didn't get how it applied to real life." Charlie said thoughtfully.

"That's the kind of thing that gets discussed more in a university-level physics class or engineering – you're getting a leg up that area," Willy agreed.

Willy let Charlie take the lead on the next three rooms, offering only minimal hints and acting as more of an observer. He noted the note of respectful way Charlie let the room foremen know about what he found and what changes, if any, needed to be done. The Oompa Loompas in charge gave his apprentice the quiet respect he deserved, but still shot a glance at the impassive Chocolatier for approval before moving to follow his directions. Charlie was still building credibility with his workers, but that was a long term process and Willy knew that the next time these inspections would have to be done he'd have to find excuses to make himself absent to keep his employees from looking to him to second-guess his heir's decisions.

_Such subtle games we play…_

Willy decided to end the inspections for the day, "I'm heading down to the Invention room, interested in joining me?"

Charlie glanced at his watch and grimaced, "Can't. Mom's expecting me for dinner. Are you and Veronica joining us tonight?"

Willy pondered for a moment, "No. Not tonight. I'll ask her about tomorrow night instead, 'kay?"

"You just say that because you know Mom is fixing liver and onions," Charlie astutely pointed out.

"You're darn tootin'. See you tomorrow Charlie – just a few more days until school starts so we've got work to do," Willy grinned, seeing Charlie visibly wither at the thought of facing liver and onions without reinforcements. While the decrease in the amount of cabbage in the Bucket diet was a welcome relief, to its youngest member, the change to such things as liver and onions wasn't a welcome one.

Willy walked toward the invention room, enjoying the chance to stretch his legs, exchanging pleasant greetings with the workers that passed him in the multi-colored halls. Almost absently he bent to grab a rail about knee height and slid into the dark circular opening. The long twisting slide was dark with strobes of black light flashing sudden burst of neon color – disorienting to the eye. Willy easily avoided that by relaxing and closing his eyes. He heard the end coming and braced himself with one hand on his hat to roll neatly to his feet.

He quickly gained entrance to his beloved invention room and took a moment to gaze around with pride – the chaos, the sheer magnificence of the room created solely by his hand alone…beautiful.

He removed his coat and hat, carefully handing it from its accustomed hook, he turned his attention to one of the machines he was working on. Ultimately, it would spin licorice thread for the candy kites, but it needed to be modified to make the thread thinner, more pliable, but almost as strong as spider silk with the added benefit of being edible.

He threw on an apron, slid the work gloves over his usual purple latex and flopped down on the rolling platform to slide under the machine. Giving himself over to the work, he let his mind wander.

Something was nagging him. It wasn't anything in particular he could figure out, nothing overt, but it would bug him until he puzzled it out.

Willy could sense that indirectly it had to do with the idea of Charlie and Veronica leaving the safety of the factory to face off against the ravenous hoards of paparazzi that were gathering outside the factory walls. Little did they know he'd been getting security updates from a grim Smiley who let the Chocolatier know about the attempts to get entry through the loading docks, or sneaking over the walls. His countermeasures had ensured that none were successful, but he was worried about the increasing bravery of the intruders.

Ratcheting a bolt a bit more vigorously than really necessary, Willy followed the train of thought. Veronica had announced her intention to do some apartment hunting tomorrow, trying to reassure him by saying L.A. and her brother would accompany her. They would have to sneak out, probably through one of the tunnels used by the Oompa Loompas to one of the safe house across the street – in fact, the very same building he was planning on luring her to consider sub-letting.

Willy made a mental note to give L.A. the keys to the space on the top floor so Veronica could take a peek. He was confident in the quality of the location and had a feeling that she'd take it – if her taste in living space was consistent, judging from her last apartment.

_There….it was something along those lines. Can't tell directly what was bothering him, but come at it from the side…_

Veronica wouldn't be too far away…a hop and a skip by tunnel. If she took it, he could install one of those pneumatic tubes he always wanted to try – a capsule capable of holding one person that could shoot back and forth. She seemed adventuresome enough that the mode of transportation wouldn't bother her….

Willy was frozen for a moment, smiling slightly at the mental picture of a brass tube – about the size of a coffin with windows, soft velvet interior with Veronica resting inside shooting through a concrete tube at nearly 10 meters per second. Yeah…that sounded like fun. There might be a slight problem since it was such a short distance away…hmmm…

He shook himself free of the thought for the moment – all well and good to plan it out, but no good if she didn't actually want it. It would be so cool though…

_The edge of what was bothering him was there…gently now…don't approach directly or it'll fade back into his mind._

Willy dropped the bolt. It thumped past his shoulder to the ground and he muttered a word that the world at large was sure he was innocent of knowing. Holding the unit in place with one hand he stretched his arm awkwardly across his body to try and grab it. It rolled under the cart and beyond his reach. Wiggling slightly, he managed to brush against it with his fingertips, just out of reach.

Silly thing seemed to have a mind of its own – not coming easily to hand and refusing to roll neatly into his grasp. Willy's arm was beginning to shake, the unit was not light and the bolt was the only thing holding it on at the moment, he needed it back. _Stupid bolt – you're needed here and you abandon me at the wrong moment…_

…_steady…almost there._

Willy finally snagged the bolt with a grunt of approval, slid it home again, the part he needed freed from underneath. He grabbed the ratchet and turned it a few times just to loosely hold the unit in place until he could make the necessary modifications on its missing piece.

"There. Now stay put and don't run off on me. I know you want to run off and explore the world, but trust me, it's better for you here," he scolded, tapping the bolt with one finger. He slid out from under the machine holding the part in one hand as the words he'd just spoken sank into his busy subconscious.

_Bingo!_

Suddenly, the surge of emotion lurking in the background announced themselves with the casual disregard of anything else he happen to be doing at the moment.

Willy froze as realization dawned. He was angry!

He was irritated with Charlie for making him feel cowardly for not wanting to face up to the media.

He was angry with Veronica for turning down his invitation to stay at the factory, even as he understood her reasons for wanting distance.

He was angry at her for not staying put by his side, for not being content to spend the rest of her days with him - for striving for her own goals contrary to his own.

Willy dropped the part in shock, it hit his nose and he recoiled at the sudden pain, both physical and mental. Sitting up and eyes watering, he ignored the stinging sensation to jump to his feet and paced frantically.

He was furious…but he didn't want to be.

"Sherman…I need Sherman," He announced stopping suddenly, violet eyes brightening.

Ignoring his hat and coat, he bolted from the room, shutting and locking the door with automatic precaution. He sprinted for the Wonkavator, scarcely aware of the wetness on his face and work gloves. He leapt over his workers and hurtle-jumped over a flatbed cart hauling huge peppermint sticks – ignoring their startled yelps and alarmed eyes.

Throwing himself inside, he jammed a finger at the button for Sherman's office. He was startled by the vivid smear of red left behind as the vehicle took motion. His glove was covered in red fluid, and he noticed the wetness on his face that he initially took for tears was actually dripping down his chin at this point.

Willy started to hyperventilate…he hated blood…especially his own. With a shaking hand, he reached into his pocket to draw out his handkerchief monogrammed with the golden "W" that was his trademark to dab delicately at his stinging nose. Blood…there was more blood on the cloth…he was bleeding.

"Oh man!" he groaned, feeling slightly faint.

_Pull yourself together man, it's only a nosebleed!_ Funny how that voice in his head sounded so much like his father's unsympathetic tones.

"_Buck up Willy. It doesn't really hurt – you're just not used to the sensation," said his father – so tall and commanding, looming over the child he had been. _

_The boy looked up at his father, violet eyes wet with tears from the intense painful pounding of his heartbeat rushing through his aching head. The adjustments on his braces always brought on a migraine, but his father would never listen – sending him to school anyway. Little Willy could only console himself with icy visions of the Arctic tundra to soothe the savage fire of pain, to lure himself away from the agony with visions of different candies dancing through his head…_

"Won-Ka?" came the hesitant voice of one of his workers.

He was staring at Tupik-Ra, holding the door of the Wonkavator that had come to rest outside Sherman's office door. Willy realized that he had blacked-out for a moment, sliding down the wall of the Wonkavator to sit, knees to chest on the floor, blood seeping unhindered from his nose down his chin to stain his shirt, vest and apron.

"Sorry – lost in a flashback for a moment. Is Sherman in?" Willy asked, pushing himself to his feet and plastering a manic smile across his face.

Tupik-Ra nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off the taller man, "Yes. But are you alright, you're bleeding? Let me contact Dev-On…"

Willy waved him off, "Pfft! It's just a nosebleed, no need to call out the old sawbones for that. I'll just…" He indicated moving toward Sherman's office and the little man quickly stepped out of his way.

He ignored the lawyer's concerned gaze on his back and entered Sherman's office with an air of confidence he clearly didn't feel at the moment. He shut the door and turned to make sure the office was unoccupied with any of Sherman's other clients before closing his eyes and sighing deeply, letting the smile drop.

"Won-Ka! You're hurt! What happened?"came the welcome deep voice of his trusted friend.

"Just a little accident. Do you happen to have a moment for me?" Willy asked in a small voice. "I don't mean to be a bother."

Alarmed by the blood and the Chocolatier's hesitant manner, Sherman declared, "I'm making one. Please, sit down. Let me get something to clean up and get the nosebleed to stop."

Sherman hustled to the small bathroom off the side of his office and brought back a wet cloth and an ice bag, "Here. Lean back and let me have a look."

Willy took a seat on the chaise lounge and laid back, allowing the smaller man to climb up and tend to his wound.

"You've got a good ding on your nose, that's where the blood is coming from, but I don't believe anything is broken. What happened?" Sherman announced, looking down into Willy's eyes.

"A revelation," Willy said shortly.

Sherman raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue, replacing the wet cloth and setting the ice bag on top to keep the bruising down.

"I went down to the Invention Room to work. I had a feeling that something was bothering me, so I worked and used what you taught me to try and figure out what it was. I had just taken out the compressor unit off the licorice machine when it hit me, both literally and figuratively." Willy explained.

Sherman nodded and indicated for Willy to continue as he gave him the ice bag to place where he needed it and climbed down to take his usual seat in the wingback chair.

"I realized that I'm angry – both at Charlie and Veronica. I don't want to be though..." Willy said.

"Why are you angry with them?" Sherman asked, grabbing his notebook from where it was stuffed down the side of his chair and scribbling rapidly.

"I'm angry because they're going to be facing off against the media. They won't stay safe inside the factory. It's stupid, they're going to get hurt and there's nothing I can say or do to make them drop this," he said, feeling the flood break free.

"Really?"

"You know what I mean. You're the one who introduced L.A., remember?" Willy snapped, lashing out at Sherman for bringing a whole new dimension to his conflict.

"Yes I do know what they're up to, but why are you angry?" Sherman calmly asked, sensing the fear under the fury.

"They won't listen to me. I just want to keep them safe, but they're determined to go out and face those…carrion eaters!" the distraught man snarled.

"So, you're angry because they do not heed your warnings?"

"Yes! They just want to run off, leaving me behind to clean up the mess. I won't do it though," Willy sputtered indignantly, "Oh no! They won't abandon me…"

"You are angry because they leave you behind…abandon you?" Sherman's deceptively casual voice asked.

Willy was brought up short in his rant. His lightning quick mind grasped the implications of Sherman's gentle guidance. "Yes…"

"Why else are you angry?"

Willy closed his eyes and searched for the center of this feeling. It was difficult because he wanted to follow so many other trails that made his blood boil at the mention related to this topic, but he needed to discover the root of this infestation.

"I'm angry that they won't do what I ask. I'm angry because I feel like they ignore my need to keep them safe," he said weakly, knowing that it wasn't the issue even as he spoke.

"I'm angry…at me," concluded with a heavy sigh, weighed down by this conclusion.

"Indeed," Sherman said and waited for him to continue.

"They're so brave, so sure of themselves. It makes me feel…weak…uncertain," Willy confessed. "Veronica has shown such courage facing her own fears, it makes me ashamed that I'm not able to do the same."

He realized that his interaction with them throughout the day upon learning of her plan had been colored with his anger, even as he didn't realize it at the time. Even…

To his growing horror, he realized that there was an edge of anger present while he had made love to her that afternoon – an edge of cruelty that turned his stomach upon realizing it.

"Excuse me!" he said, shooting for the trashcan to be noisily sick.

Even as his stomach heaved, the self-recriminations rang through his head. _You idiot! She cares enough for you to take you down there to relax and you throw it back in her face by hurting her like that. You're a monster – worse than that scum that attacked her before because at least he was honest enough to attack outright instead of hiding…claiming it to be an act of love…_

"Won-Ka, calm down. Take deep breaths." Sherman instructed, standing by to steady him.

Willy realized that he was hyperventilating, shaking and sweating. Feeling his stomach settle for the moment, he slumped back and concentrated on taking slow steady breaths, the sweat on his body too cold for his oversensitive skin.

He felt another cold damp cloth being pressed into his hands and he wearily opened his eyes to see Sherman's concerned face. He smiled weakly and wiped his face and mouth. Sherman solemnly took the cloth and replaced it with a glass of water.

"Swish and spit – rejoin me when you're ready," he said kindly before exiting the room to allow Willy privacy to regain his composure.

Willy set the trashcan aside with disgust at his weakness, "Nice. She's the injured party and I'm the one throwing up. What's wrong with that?"

It was a few minutes later and he was feeling much calmer, but more guilty when there was a rap on the door. Willy indicated that he was ready and Sherman entered. The smaller man put the kettle on for tea and while it was boiling took care of the befouled trash can. By the time the cheerful kettle whistled, the psychiatrist was finished and quickly brewed an herbal tea for his companion.

"Sip this – it's chamomile and ginger to settle you down. Now, apparently something struck you while you were speaking that didn't sit well. Would you care to tell me about it?" Sherman said, retaking his seat with a similar cup on a much smaller scale.

"I think I may have hurt her… taken some of this anger out on…," Willy trailed off, shame flooding him.

"How?"

"We went down to one of the sorting rooms down by packaging…she saw that I was upset and needed to calm down. Somehow she knew that I liked to jump on the trampolines…" he trailed off, forcing himself to sip the tea. _He was such a monster…_

"We were playing, we started wrestling…" Willy flushed at the memory. She had seemed so happy…

"What happened? Is Ver-Oni-Ka alright?" Sherman asked, a bubble of worry rising in his throat.

"I think so…God, this is embarrassing…"

Sherman's eyes lit up in understanding, "Ah…you patooked."

Willy felt the blood thundering up to his face, the wound in his nose throbbed with it, "Um…yes."

"Did she indicate that anything was unwanted? Was she unsatisfied or unhappy? Did you have any doubts that anything was forced?" Sherman asked, sternly.

"N..no," he said, voice shaking, but expression clearing slightly, " I was a bit more…demanding…I mean, I didn't want her to do anything except accept what I was doing…even though she indicated she wanted to return the favor…"

"But you feel that this anger that you hold at yourself managed to color the interlude," Sherman stated, relaxing.

"Yes," he said, shamefaced, "I made her beg me to…" _Was he ever going to live this down?_

Sherman had to cough to hide his amusement with the taller man - these silly outsiders and their odd ways, "I understand what you mean. No need to torture yourself Won-Ka. Remember I am a happily married man myself. In fact, as I understand it, getting her to beg is a _good_ thing. As long as you did not torment her and then did not fulfill her need."

"No worries about that," he said, not able to help the slightly proud smirk from creeping across his face, "She seemed quite the happy camper a few times."

"Excellent. Then I see no reason to worry about that aspect of your anger."

"I beg your pardon?" Willy asked, "Doesn't that make me as bad as that beast who…"

"No. I believe Ver-Oni-Ka is perfectly willing to let someone know that their advances are wanted or not without confusion," Sherman said dryly, sipping his tea. "If you feel so horribly about it though, why do you not speak with her about it?"

Willy lost what little color he possessed and Sherman had to worry about his employer passing out, "I couldn't! What if she gets angry with me and…"

"Sip your tea," Sherman ordered, seeing Willy about to work himself up again.

The Chocolatier did, the heat causing him to sip cautiously and he felt the liquid roll down his throat and hit his stomach with a satisfying splash.

"I think you are giving both Ver-Oni-Ka and Char-Li too little credit. I also think you don't allow yourself enough credit as well. You are all thinking, reasoning beings – you also share a bond of love. They seek to protect you just as you have for them. Accept this. You will wrestle with your anger and fear for a long time, but share that burden with them as they have with you. That is what love is," the wise man said.

Sherman set his cup aside and stood up to address the Chocolatier, "You come to me to discover the root of your anger – now that you know what it is, what do you seek to do about it?" He smiled mysteriously and exited, leaving the man to his thoughts.

--

It was nearly 9 p.m. when Veronica finally made it back to her room. Her feet were still aching from the day spent in heels, no matter how often she kicked them off while sitting down. Her head was still aching slightly from earlier and the stress headache of dealing with Reggie and Spencer in full protect-mode wasn't improving her temper any. That also wasn't mentioning the sore muscles both inside and out from their exploits on the trampoline. It had been a while since she'd gotten any major exercise like that and her body was letting her know that it was not going to settle quietly for that kind of behavior.

Maybe adding daily exercise to her routine was something to consider.

"Bloody stupid shoes…bloody stupid men," she grumbled, fumbling for the door handle. Three hours trying to soothe ruffled feathers and work out schedules so one or both would be available to join her on this monstrous expedition tomorrow to apparently overhaul her life. God, all she wanted to do was curl up with Willy and ignore the rest of the world one more day…

"I hope I'm not included on that little list," said Willy's light voice from where he rested on the couch.

She was surprised to see her oft-sterile room transformed into an island of tranquility with a few deft touches. The overhead lights were shut off, soft lamp and candles providing soothing relief to the usual harsh glare. Willy rose and she was again surprised to see his usual formal attire traded out for silky red pajamas with a dark grey quilted robe and the wild slippers she bought for him. His dark hair almost looked black in the subdued light. There was a fresh cut across the bridge of his nose, a dark line startling across his pale skin

"What happened to your nose?" she asked concerned.

"Just an accident in the Invention Room, nothing serious," Willy smiled quietly. He moved toward her, something strange in his eyes.

"I thought I'd surprise you with a relaxing dinner in your room. I'm not the only one looking stressed earlier," he said, with a strange note of regret in his voice.

She kicked off the hated shoes by the door, sighing with relief from the cool tile underfoot, "Sounds lovely."

Willy drew her into his arms and she sighed with satisfaction and joy. The strong arms around her comforted her frazzled nerves and the cool texture of his robe against her face combined with the warm spicy smell of him made her want to purr.

"Gosh, you're tense. Interesting conversation with the dynamic duo?" he said, looking down into her eyes and running his hands up and down her back.

"They've agreed to work me into their busy schedules tomorrow. Between L.A., Spence and Reggie I have lost complete control over my life, my wardrobe and my mind," she moaned, nuzzling closer – trying to hide from the world.

"Hmm…at least you've still got your health."

She snorted with laughter and looked up at him, "God, I love you."

"I love you too. You can tell me the particulars in the bath," Willy said, turning her and nudging her toward the bathroom.

"I get a bath too? Okay, what's going on? This is guilty behavior," she said jokingly.

Willy was silent, but a guilty expression crossed his face, "Who says I have to have done anything."

"Willy. What's the matter?" she asked, all humor falling to the wayside.

"Let me do this for you first. I need the time to rally my thoughts, 'kay?" Willy said, a bright smile crossing his face. It was his fake smile, that told her that something was deeply bothering him.

Veronica was silent as they entered the bathroom, she kept his eyes on his face trying to puzzle him out as he carefully removed her clothes, loving fingers taking particular pleasure caring for her. His eyes were intent on the task and she worried what was going through his mind.

She held his balancing hand as she stepped into the tub and sank with a hiss into the hot water delicately scented with lavender. "Join me?" she asked eyes vulnerable as he started to turn and leave the bathroom.

He regarded her for a moment, face impassive for a short moment before he nodded and started untying the robe. Veronica leaned back and watched him, his movements to tug the gloves from his long white fingers before bundling the latex in a ball and shooting it into the wastebasket with a practiced gesture.

Willy's face was open, expressive as he watched her watching him undress. She hummed her approval as he untied the knot of his robe and slipped it from his shoulders, hanging it on the back of the bathroom door. He toed off the slippers, revealing long toes and delicate high arches of strong feet before nudging them too behind the open door out of the way.

He returned his violet gaze to her face, watching her expression as he carefully unbuttoned the red silken pajama top. Her eyes darkened and face started to color slightly as she watched him unveil himself to her waiting eyes. She unconsciously licked her lips as he removed the shirt, revealing pale skin and silken gleaming muscle. He hung the shirt on top of the robe and turned to her.

Veronica could tell he was nervous before her frankly hungry stare, so she smiled slightly and allowed herself to lean back, long arch of her throat exposed and steaming slightly in the flattering candlelight, eyes and face inviting him to join her non-verbally.

Still, he hesitated.

"It's okay if you don't want to," she whispered, seeing his discomfort.

"No, I want to, I just want to make sure you actually want the company and aren't just humoring me," Willy replied, that strange note back in his voice.

"What do you mean? Of course I want to. Willy, what's going on?"

He didn't reply. Emboldened by her response, he colored slightly and stared into her eyes as his fingers, normally so limber, fumbled with the drawstring of his pants.

Her mouth went dry at the sight. It wasn't that she hadn't seen and admired his form before, he'd just never seemed so vulnerable, so open. His eyes held hers, finding reassurance in their loving depths. The long lean lines of his thighs complemented the lean torso, the broad shoulders and strong arms, slender lines of whipcord muscle dancing beneath the surface. But it was his face that captured her heart – so open and expressive, the violet eyes gleaming with emotion. It was the first time he'd really seemed naked to her.

Veronica held out one hand in invitation, and he paused for a moment before taking it. Her face was so open in its appreciation for him that any doubts that he held about her wanting him with her slipped away.

Willy stepped into the tub and settled himself behind her, settling her between his outstretched thighs. The tub was just barely big enough to accommodate the two of them, the water level threatening to overflow the top.

He started bathing her by releasing her long braid from its prison, raising an eyebrow and smirking at the pencil holding it up. "Hey, it was the only thing I could find at the time," she laughed, slightly embarrassed at the silly gesture.

He removed the band and unbraided the hair, smoothing the long strands with careful fingers, the ends quickly soaking up water. Using a cup by the side of the tub, he carefully wet her hair before smoothing shampoo into the wet mass and massaged her scalp with strong fingers.

Veronica's eyes rolled back in her head at the wonderful pressure, "Good God that feels magnificent."

Willy paused and smirked at the rough texture of her voice, he thought there was only one context he would hear it like that – apparently he was wrong.

With long soothing movements, he rinsed and conditioned her long hair before moving on to soaping the rest of her.

The touch was sensual but lacked the sexual overtones to arouse. His careful strokes and circles were tender, caring – more interested in tending her sore spots than anything else.

Veronica responded with moans and sighs of relief - the sheer intimacy of the moment touching her heart and soul.

"Thank you – that was one of the more wonderful moments of my life," she breathed, leaning back to rest against his chest. "Allow me to return the favor?"

"I don't think I deserve it," Willy said.

She half sat up and turned to face him in surprise, "What? How do you mean?"

Willy pulled her back to lean against him again, "Veronica, I'm afraid I did something today that I don't feel particularly proud of."

Heart sinking, she asked in a tremulous voice, "Oh Willy, what did you do?"

"I figured out that I was a bit angry with you today, and realized that I may have taken it out on you inappropriately."

"Angry? When?"

"When we…I mean during…"

Her eyes widened when she realized what he was referring to. _That was anger? If that was anger she might have to see if she could get him pissed off more often… _

"Oh!"was all that escaped her.

"It was wrong of me to do that. It took me a while to figure out that I was mad, but then when I figured it out and what I had done to you…" Willy said, his voice thickening with emotion.

_The poor man actually thought he had hurt her_, Veronica thought astonished. "What? The three screaming orgasms or the helpful advice and support this afternoon?" she asked, realizing that she had to nip this level of self-flagellation in the bud.

"Huh?"

_What kind of man is a stranger to the regular frustrations and anger that tinged day-to-day life?_

_Willy Wonka, that's who._

"Willy, it's alright. You didn't hurt me – in fact I found the experience quite enjoyable and hope to try it again some day. You might have been angry – but the only thing I noticed was that you were a bit more…open…with what you wanted at the moment." She blushed, turning to face him.

"I thought you'd hate me…especially after what you'd gone through," he said in a small voice.

"Never. You took nothing that wasn't offered first. As for your anger – it's perfectly understandable."

"It is?"

"Willy – your lover and apprentice basically said that you were wrong in not approaching the press earlier despite your worst fears. If someone had done the same thing to me and said I was wrong in not declaring to the world my issues with Marcus, I'd torn them a new hole."

"Really?"

"Certainly. I appreciate the mature manner in which you've been handling the situation – I didn't realize that it was because you'd started a slow burn and didn't even realize it."

Willy smiled shyly at her and she couldn't help returning it, "We are a couple of dunces, aren't we?"

"No, just learning about each other and how all this works," Willy said ruefully. "I'll make a promise to you. Next time I figure out that I'm getting worked up over something, I'll come talk to you first. Will you do the same?"

Thinking back at the round-about way of instituting her plan, she had to agree, "Yes. I promise."

"Good."

"Now, switch places with me. You're going to get a good scrubbing. Next we're going to eat whatever it is you ordered for us…" Veronica commanded, standing up to step over the sitting man and shifting around until he had taken his place in between her outstretched legs, head leaning back against her chest.

"Pizza," Willy provided helpfully.

"Wonderful. And while we're eating that, I'm breaking into some of my Christmas gifts and we'll watch some really horrible sci-fi movies," she declared, carefully pouring water over his head, slicking back his dark hair.

"Plan 9 from Outer Space?" he asked in hopeful tones.

"…and Frankenstein versus the Martins," she concluded firmly with a grin down at him.

"Great," Willy snuggled down and let out a moan or two of her own as her clever fingers sought out the spots of tension along his temple and jaw as she shampooed his hair.

"I hate to sound so prudish," she said softly, tilting his head against her chest to peer at her face upside down, "But would you mind terribly if we didn't…you know…tonight?"

"Thank God!" he sighed in relief, "No, I don't mind at all. I have to admit, our pace over the past couple of days is taking a bit more out of me than I cared to admit."

"Me too. I'm still a little tender from this afternoon...not that I mind," she quickly added, seeing his stricken expression. "But it's not necessary every night. I just want to curl up and watch silly movies with you before heading into chaos tomorrow."

Willy used his legs to push up and kiss her – still upside down, something that caused both of them to giggle for a moment, "You've got yourself a deal, sweetheart."

"Sweetheart?" she asked giggling.

"Umm..honey?"

"No."

"Beloved?"

"I like it, but it feels too formal…"

"Schnookie wookums?"

"Urg."


	43. Chapter 43

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. No Oompa Loompas were harmed in the making of this fictional work – the media on the other hand were thrashed within an inch of their lives. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 43**

Willy was wrestling with the machine in the Invention Room, the adjustments had been made to the calibration unit this afternoon and he was using magnifying goggles to make tiny adjustments to the microchip that ran the machine itself.

A soft persistent noise tugged at his attention, but he ignored it to use the soldering iron to attach a tiny thread of wire to one of the diodes.

The noise seemed to grow in his mind, even as he struggled to maintain his concentration. It didn't grow in volume but it loomed larger in his mind.

Irritated, he plunked the soldering iron back into its holder and whipped off the goggles to glare at the source of the noise.

A figure was crumpled in the corner, pale skin marked by bruises, he couldn't see the face, but he could tell it was female.

Another figure stepped by him, passing from his peripheral vision. Clad in red and black, it was a tall man wearing a black top hat that seemed to gobble at the available light.

"I've got this one – go back to your work," said an all too familiar voice.

The taller figure stalked toward the wounded figure in the corner, leaning down to jerk her to her feet with a startled cry. Glove-clad hands pinched her flesh cruelly as he shook her, snarling, "What do you think you're doing? Don't distract him! Can't you do anything I tell you?"

She sobbed again, her head bowing forward in submission, for a moment Willy could see tears streaming from bloodshot hazel eyes, "I'm sorry…so sorry."

"Not sorry enough," growled the man, slapping her three times in quick succession.

Willy was frozen in this horrible moment. He tried to force his stubborn body into motion – to stop the man from striking the weaker figure, but he was trapped. He could feel the cold sweat breaking out over his body with the effort.

She cried out again, and the man pushed her back against the wall with a skull-cracking thud. The man called out to him without turning, "Go ahead and finish making the connections and reconnect it to the calibration unit." His voice sounded bored, casual even, as he leaned forward toward the cowering figure.

The woman tried to look past her tormentor with pleading eyes, he could see her hands…familiar scarred hands…weakly pushing the man away, but he easily trapped her wrist and held them above her head. Willy felt sick as he watched the man lean down and lick her neck with a mocking laugh before sinking the strong white teeth into the tender flesh. She cried out in pain and the man slapped her again, releasing his hold on her neck.

"You'll take what I give you without question or comment, understand?" he snarled, sounding more animal than human.

Willy threw himself into the effort of moving to break up this attack – his body refusing to submit to his mental screams to action. _Those words…why did they sound so familiar_?

The woman screamed as the attacker's glove-clad hand stabbed into her, up between her legs, hoisting up the thin ripped chemise she wore. Willy managed to make a low cry in his throat at her anguish; he could feel his own tears starting to flow.

The attacker released her hands to grab her throat and pin her to the wall, fumbling with the fly of his black trousers under the blood red coat. Willy couldn't see what happened next, but from the brutal hoist of one of her legs and a thrust of the man's hips a strangled screech of pain and humiliation broke from the woman's throat.

The man howled his exultation at her pain and as his head leaned back, Willy could see the woman – her red chestnut hair tangled around her frightened, tortured face – the eyes wide with shock and betrayal. Her hands were clutching at her attacker, trying to push him away, even as she cried.

Willy screamed in his throat, unable to even open his mouth at the realization that the woman being attacked was his beloved Veronica.

The attacker stopped his movements at the sound of Willy's muted scream, half turning his head at the noise, "You have something to add, my friend?" He could see bone white skin with inky black hair in a neat pageboy from under the hat. Willy felt a rising wave of horror as he started to recognize Veronica's attacker

As the attacker callously dropped the broken woman to the ground, he turned to face him.

It was himself.

--

Willy opened his eyes, sucking in a much needed breath of air as his body shook in shock. His stomach churned with acid and he forced himself to lay still and take deep breaths, not to give voice to the shrieks trying to claw their way out of his chest.

He was laying on one side of the full-sized bed in Veronica's room.

He was clad in his pajama pants, blankets tangled around his legs – heart rate slowly returning to normal, even as he shivered with the drying sweat in the cold night air. He ran his hands through his tangled hair, the strands sticking messily to the back of his neck_. _

_God, that was horrible!_

He stared at her face for a moment, trying to convince himself that she was unharmed. Sitting up, he took quick mental stock – she was asleep, curled up on her side facing him, blankets pulled up under her chin. He'd never forget the twisted look of terror directed at him in his nightmare. Reaching out, he brushed his shaking fingers over her still face to assure himself.

Veronica's brow creased slightly and she made a small noise, hand twitching slightly. Willy jumped slightly at the sound – watching her carefully.

She rolled onto her back and made another whimper, her face twisting into a pained gasp.

_Looks like I'm not the only one with nightmares_, he thought grimly. _This is my fault_.

Not wanting to startle her, he sagged back to lie down, carefully drawing her closer and stroking her soft hair as it cascaded over her shoulders. She snuggled closer, drawn out of her nightmare and half-awakened by the movement, "Willy?" she asked sleepily.

"Shhh…I'm here. Head back to dreamland, Starshine and I'll meet you there in a moment." He whispered softly, running his bare fingers through the soft strands.

"'kay." She muttered, sinking back into sleep. _So innocent and trusting…_

He continued to pet her hair, soaking up her warmth and trust as he waited for the last fragments of his nightmare to be banished.

"_You'll take what I give you without question or comment, understand?"_

There was still a cold knot sitting in his chest and suddenly, he found that he couldn't bear the thought of sleep. Lightly kissing the top of her head, he eased himself out of her grasp and slipped from the bed.

No way was he risking another dream like that tonight. This was a good a time as any to start the day, regardless of the hour. He gathered his robe and slippers, pulling on the thick material over his bare chest – Veronica had appropriated the top for herself. Giving the bed with his lover one last longing glance, he quietly let himself out of the room.

--

Veronica woke in the morning to a pounding on her door.

"Willy?" she called groggily, realizing her bed was empty.

No reply answered her.

The pounding on the door became more constant – like some psychotic drummer who decided to moonlight as an alarm clock.

"I'm up! Gimme a minute!" she bellowed in irritation.

The pounding paused.

She pulled herself from the warm bed and staggered to the door, blearily shooting the alarm clock a look. It was 6:15 in the morning – Gak!

Where the heck was Willy?

The door was flung open and an unapologetic L.A. breezed in, a small pile of clothes draped over one arm, "Good Morning sleepy bones! Time to get started."

The shorter woman was clad in skinny jeans, white cashmere turtleneck sweater and a white pageboy hat cocked on her dark curly hair. She looked far too pulled together for the early hour. Veronica decided to hate her for the moment until another option presented itself.

"Not without coffee. What are those?" she grumbled, shutting the door.

"This is your wardrobe for the day. These are some selections from my closet that I bought in error – bloody beanstalks the lot of you – and figured you looked about the right size," said L.A., making herself at home on one of the available seats.

Veronica gave the clothes a once over, "Not really my style." She was a full-grown woman, not one of those idiotic-looking underage alcoholics that graced the cover of the gossip magazines.

"You don't have style – that's what we take care of today."

Veronica groaned and grabbed the pile along with appropriate underthings and took the offering into the bathroom.

The long skinny dark blue jeans fit…barely…she had to do a creative shimmy to tuck what little behind she had into the tight material. Once on, she discovered that they had some give to them, but not enough to actually be comfortable.

She pulled on a dark grey thermal top – that was tight too. When she turned to regard the result, she almost yelped – the material had stretched across her breasts and was practically translucent. Grabbing a button-up black vest, she covered herself and fastened it up – crisis averted. The dark colors washed her out and she grimaced at the comments she anticipated from her escort this morning. She ran a brush through the long hair and threw it into a sloppy braid, tying the end off and leaving it down rather than stab herself in the head with the pencil again.

She exited the bathroom and did a sarcastic little twirl, "Acceptable?"

L.A. gave her swift appraisal, "You need make-up. A nice smoky finish would do nicely."

"I thought you wanted make-up? That sounds like a BBQ sauce."

L.A. rolled her eyes at and indicated Veronica approach, "Here. I've got it."

The taller woman subjected herself to sitting down and watching the other woman stare at her intently while using an eye pencil to do…something to her.

"There. Now go see what I mean. Grab your coat and we're out of here," L.A. commanded, gathering her own cherry red pea coat.

Veronica gave a hefty sigh and regarded the results in the mirror. The kohl had been smudged artistically to accentuate the line of her lashes and emphasize the odd color of her eyes. Nothing she could duplicate without help and nothing she'd do on a daily basis.

If this was just the start, she was in trouble.

"I still need coffee."

--

Many hours later, Veronica was wishing for something a lot stronger than coffee.

"This is just darling! You have to try it on…" L.A.'s gushing tones felt like razorblades across her exposed nerves.

"No," she said, quite proud of the calm matter-of-fact tone.

"Now princess…don't get all huffy on us now," pleaded Spencer with an impish gleam in his eye. When he heard about the shopping trip last night, he dumped three fittings on his assistants and had braved cross-town traffic to meet them at the private appointment with one of his favorite designers.

"I hate this. You've measured everything and anything that can be measured – you know what kind of style I'm looking for…I am not a mannequin," she growled, glaring at the grinning man. The dress in question was a some sort of modern print dress that turned her stomach. She'd been stripped and dressed more times than she could bear to count. The good news was that her sparse wardrobe had been fully refurbished with classically cut pieces and accessories to go with all of it. The multiple bags were gathered around her feet like debris from a particularly fashion oriented tornado.

"Just one or two more…if you're serious about the fund raisers, you're going to need a few gowns for the events," L.A. said seriously, she dumped the ugly modern print gown and looked around.

The designer in question, a fussy little man who fluttered his hands like wounded pigeons circled Veronica with a thoughtful gleam in his eye. This was a big opportunity for him – the woman with Wonka – his designs would be seen by millions! "I think we need to go back to basics for you, my dear. I'm thinking columns, I'm thinking stark flowing lines…"

Spencer jumped in, "Ooh! I've got it…" he leaned over his sketch pad, wielding a charcoal stick like a magician wielding a wand. "How about…like this…" he held up the basic line picture of a long dress.

L.A. nodded, "Yeah. In a dark green heather…that would look fabulous."

Veronica gulped, "Um. Have you actually looked at me? That thing is showing enough skin for three people. What would hold it up? Duct tape?"

They ignored her. This is what it had been like all day. This is what made her head pound and to make her long for the quiet serenity of her studio.

Spencer tapped her on the shoulder and handed her a bottle of water and two aspirin tablets.

"Bless you!" she said in gratitude and swallowed the pills dry before taking a long swig of water, draining it in one go.

"It's time for your appointment at the salon. I got you in with Raphael himself. Lovely man, we used to date many many many moons ago," Spencer whispered.

Veronica forced a smile to her lips, looking more like a grimace rather than anything associated with a good mood, "Oh goody."

--

The powerfully build man turned her back toward the mirror after almost two hours of fussing, tugging, foiling, slathering and finally cutting. There was an awful lot of hair piled around her feet, and that was after insisting that they take as much as they could for Locks o' Love. Another long ponytail of her hair lay like a sacrificial offering on the rolling cart holding Raphael's equipment.

"Holy crap!" she swore softly, eyes wide with amazement at the transformation.

The formerly neglected mop had been chopped short chin-length layers flipping to frame her face. Bangs hung across her forehead for the first time since she was a child. There were subtle gold and red highlights framing her face, brightening her complexion and making her eyes seem more of an emerald green than their usual hazel. Her sharp features were softened by the loose tresses, adding an air of sophistication she liked. She looked like a cool, elegant woman with a knowing gleam in her eye.

"It's very wash n' wear as per your direction," Raphael said modestly. "Just add mousse, blow dry with a round brush and finish with a texturizer, shine and frizz control product – I'll throw in a sample for you to use, just a little in the palm goes a long way."

"It's gorgeous! Thank you," Veronica said, slipping from the chair.

"You look beautiful, love!" Spencer crooned, running his fingers through the new hairdo. "Raphael, If I wasn't already bonded; you would have seduced me with this look."

"Flatterer!" The power lifter/hairdresser simpered. "Just come back in about six weeks for a touch up, let me know when and I'll pencil you in."

Slipping a new set of sunglasses over her face, she looked at the reflection in the mirror. The new clothes, new hair and the confidence built from practice with L.A. had provided her an armor against the intrusive presence of the media.

She was going to need every ounce of nerve of it too. Someone from the salon had tipped the press and there was a crowd gathered outside. They needed to get through it to make their escape back to the factory. Their bags from earlier had already been taken back to via the secret tunnel from the building across the street from the back entrance.

"Ready for the grand premiere?" L.A. asked, slipping on her own nondescript sunglasses.

"Ready as I'll ever be, are we finally heading back?"

"Yup. Spencer, it's been a pleasure meeting you – you have impeccable fashion sense. Call me the next time you put together a sample sale."

"You got it doll. Ronnie," Spencer placed a kiss on her cheek, "Good luck, call me when you get the chance. I'll record this evening so you can see how it pulls off."

Lucky bastard was slipping out the back while she distracted them from the front.

Taking a deep breath, Veronica pulled down every ounce of poise she could muster and allowed L.A. to slip in front of her to open the door and try to break a path. Flashes popped, the sunglasses deflected a lot of the glare so she was actually able to make out the faces in the crowd.

She coolly stepped forward into the crowd, making sure to keep her movements relaxed and even. Most important, she kept moving, making them jump out of the way of her.

"Ms. Carmichael! Veronica! Over here!" the shouts jumbled together as photographers battled with elbows and equipment, reporters tried thrusting microphones into her face, only to be detracted by their competition doing the same.

_Turn their bloodthirsty instincts on themselves,_ L.A.s voice rang from her memory.

"Ms. Carmichael, is it true that you and Willy Wonka are working together?"

Veronica spoke for the first time in public, her dictation clear and audible, "Mr. Wonka and myself cooperated to produce the Candy Globes for this holiday season."

"Are you two seeing each other?"

She ignored that question, as she had been advised – she didn't have to answer any questions she didn't want to.

"What about Victor Brahm's charges against you for stalking?"

Veronica kept her cool, even as she snarled internally, "I can't comment on Mr. Brahm's motivations, you'll have to direct that question toward him. Otherwise, it's a matter to the judicial system."

The chorus reached a crescendo as she and L.A. started to break free of the crowd. She kept moving, and reached the car that had been hired to ferry them around for the day. Slipping inside, she removed her sunglasses and gave them her best grin before the door closed, almost blinded by the sudden surge of photo bulbs.

"Great job – that was a nice touch at the end," L.A. sighed, leaning back into the secure comfort of the car seat.

"Great Googlie Mooglie! It was a lot easier this time, but still…," the nerves were starting to hit and her hands started to shake with the belated influx of adrenaline.

"It gets a little easier with practice," the Oompa Loompa woman said softly, "It'll always be nerve wracking though."

"I'll deal with it. Didn't we have one more stop to look at the last of the apartments Willy suggested?" she asked.

"It's on the way. Actually it's in the same building as the tunnel."

"Excellent. It's got points in its favor already."

They traveled back to the building in silence. Coming up to the entrance, Veronica studied the building with a new appreciation. It was an older building, dating from the early twenties, with subway tile decorating the front swoop with wonderful Art Nouveau features. They quickly climbed out and entered the building. There was an old fashioned brass elevator to the top floor – already an improvement over her old building.

L.A. handed her a small brass key and Veronica used it to unlock the door to the single apartment on the top floor.

"Oh, wow," Veronica breathed. There was a bank of windows, letting sunlight pour in and warming the open space despite the chilly temperatures outside. Warm oak floors and whitewashed walls made it feel spacious and airy. There rest of the apartment was equally welcoming to her and she was delighted to note the large claw-foot bathtub with modern fixtures as a central feature to the single bathroom.

"Veronica," L.A. called. She returned to the kitchen and she shorter woman indicated the purple envelope with the golden "W" that awaited her on the counter.

Smiling to herself, she opened it and read the letter inside:

_My Vivacious Veronica,_

_Sorry to sneak out on you thing morning, but I had something on my mind and didn't want to disturb you. _

_Hope you find the space to your liking. Rather than an arm and a leg, how about €1,000/month for rent? L.A. will explain the benefits of living here rather than anywhere else and there's also space for a rooftop garden once the snow clears. Let me know what you think tonight._

_I can't wait to see how your day went, I know you were looking forward to it._

_Miss you terribly,_

_Love Willy. (Aka: Love Dumpling? Nah...)_

Veronica smiled, kissing the letter and returning it to its envelope before tucking it into her pocket. She was concerned about what had driven Willy out of her bed this morning...she could sense some of his unease from his letter - the minimal language spoke volumes.

The price for the apartment was appropriately high, but considering the neighborhood, the innate security associated with the location and easy access to the factory, it was a bargain. She felt like the space welcomed her already.

As for the last comment, she smirked to herself - Willy was a sarcastic son-of-a gun even if his language in the letter was as bland as milk. He knew how she felt about the prospect and had taken the opportunity all last evening to poke gentle fun at her unfeminine lack of joy at the prospect of shopping.

"Well?" L.A. asked eagerly, touched by the expression on the older woman's face as she read the note from her employer.

Looking around in contentment, she took a deep breath, smelling wood polish and clean dry air.

"I think I'm home."


	44. Chapter 44

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. The Association for Prevention of Unusual Cruelty to Media (APUCM) has written a letter of protest to Mr. Wonka for his preventative measure against them as they attempted to contact him for an interview. Mr. Wonka has let me know that the protest was given a due amount of attention and concern it deserved. Must have since it's being used as mulch in some lovely potted plants in his office. – Stealth Phoenix_

_**Note: Adult content ahead. If adult sexual behavior offends you, move on. You have been warned.**_

**Chapter 43**

Charlie watched his mentor with a concerned eye. The man was working intently on a chemical mixture and wasn't aware of his apprentice's attention. Faint bruised circles emphasized the pallor of his skin and the feverish glitter in violet eyes. His attire was as immaculate as always, in his usual clean apron while working with coat hung by the door, but there was just the faintest suggestion of a slump in his posture.

The boy had come into the Invention Room early that morning with some sketches for new candies that had come to him last night. He was surprised to meet Willy, already hard at work as he had been for several hours. The remains of breakfast sat on a tray nearby and little had been touched.

Inspections, experiments and tastings all continued as normal, but Charlie could tell something was bothering him.

"Ah-ha!" Willy said suddenly, setting the glass stirring rod to one side and jerking the teenager from his thoughts. "Okay, come give this a taste test…it's something I came up with this morning."

Charlie obediently set his writing pad to one side and leaned over to examine the odd liquid in the glass beaker. It was a dull blue and smelled like raspberries. "What is it?" He asked cautiously. Willy's experiments were not for the faint of heart or those who looked before they leapt – that was the first and most important lesson he'd ever learned from the Chocolatier.

He took a wooden stick, dipped it in the mixture and dabbed just a small taste in the center of his tongue. Closing his eyes, he let his taste buds inform him of what was going on.

The smell of raspberries faded, and there was a remarkable lack of anything else to sense. Opening his eyes, he shot a questioning glance at the taller man, "I don't taste anything."

"Here, try one of these with it," Willy suggested, an impish gleam in his weary eye. He handed Charlie a peppermint stick – one of the extra holiday ones that seemed to permeate the factory for weeks at a time after Christmas, popping up in unusual locations. He had fished one out of his toothbrush holder this morning for some reason…

The dark-haired boy unwrapped the end of the stick and tentatively sucked for a moment, before his face screwed up in disgust and he grabbed for the wastebasket to spit repeatedly, attempting to get the taste out of his mouth. "That's disgusting! It tasted like dirt. What was that?"

"A little something for April Fool's I thought of. The liquid is the key – that has to be consumed first. The candies itself is fine, but after you ingest this stuff whatever you taste for a half hour afterwards will taste like ashes. How about 'Ashberries' for a name?" Willy asked, with a plastic smile.

Charlie continued to spit for a moment before regarding his mentor with a serious expression that seemed out of place on such a young face, "Willy. What's bothering you? You never work on stuff like this when you're in a good mood."

Willy let the smile fade and slumped against the counter, rubbing his face and eyes. His energy level, normally on par with a hyperactive three year old, was extremely low and he was feeling every one of his years today.

"I had a bad dream last night and couldn't go back to sleep," he said, surprising the boy with his unusual candor. He pushed back the top hat a bit more as he contemplated how much to reveal.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Charlie asked, leaning back and turning to fully face him.

"I know what caused the dream. I just need to figure out what to do about it," said Willy.

"So, what caused it?"

The taller man flushed, looking uncomfortable, "Um…I figured out that I was a bit more irked at you and Veronica for jumping me with your plan to confront the media than I initially thought. I'm afraid that some of that may have leaked out and I may have taken it out on her in ways that I shouldn't have."

Charlie gave Willy a disbelieving look, "What did you do?"

Willy fidgeted, uncomfortable with the direction this confessional was going, "Nothing I feel comfortable talking to you about, but I did apologize to her last night and I need to do the same to you today."

The boy leaned back, crossing his long legs before him, lost in thought. Willy reflected how much Charlie had grown since they met – both gaining height and wisdom in their few short years as partners. If anyone could puzzle through this, it was this remarkable person.

"So, what you're saying is that you were mad, took it out on us somehow without us even noticing and now you feel guilty so you want to apologize?" Charlie peered up at the nervous Chocolatier.

Willy reviewed the words for a moment, "You know…when you put it that way it doesn't sound so bad."

His apprentice shrugged, "It's what I do."

Once again, the pure goodness of his heir shamed him into facing his weaknesses. Willy sucked in a breath and pulled back his shoulders to stand tall – meeting Charlie's brown eyes.

"In either case, Charlie – I want to apologize for being so snarky when you two were doing your media training with L.A. I was angry with you because you made me realize that facing down those vultures was something I should have done years ago. You made me realize that I have been hiding in here to avoid the whole mess and I shouldn't have to hide behind you two. I took out my anger on you two for making me face my fears and that was unforgivable. I'm sorry." Willy said, humbly, staring at Charlie with a pleading expression, hoping he understood.

Charlie nodded slowly. He understood that this was a difficult confession for the proud man to make and that he was honestly sorry for the perceived slight, "That's alright Willy. I understand. Thank you for telling me."

Willy let out the breath he had been holding and slumped to sit on a stool, "Whew. That was tougher than I thought."

"If you're going to be rude to us though, it might be good to do it in such a way that we're aware of what a total bastard you are trying to be. Shout a bit, throw something – I dunno, hold your breath and jump up and down for all I know," Charlie said cheekily. "Talk to Grandpa George – he'd be thrilled to offer advice."

"Thank you for those sage words," Willy said dryly, smiling slightly. "Watch your mouth though. Your mother would kill me if she knew half of what came out of your mouth in my presence."

They exchanged a grin and Willy reached out to ruffle the teen's hair affectionately, "I'm a lucky man to have you in my life Charlie Bucket."

There was a beep from the intercom, "Won-Ka?"

Willy raised an eyebrow at his apprentice and crossed the room to the intercom, "Yellow?"

"Ver-Oni-Ka and L.A. have returned to the safe house, they should be returning to the factory in a few minutes," announced the Oompa Loompa on the other side.

"Groovy – Charlie and I will meet them at the entrance. Is that you Soon-Ki?" Willy asked, untying the apron and exchanging it for his electric blue coat.

"Yes, Won-Ka, it is I."

"How're the wife and kids? Is Loo-Ni walking yet?" he asked. Willy always made an effort to keep up on all the gossip from the village.

"Not yet."

"Groovy. Stand back, we're heading out." Willy nodded to Charlie who extinguished the Bunsen burner and made sure the equipment was turned off. The teen quickly joined him at the door as it opened, "Hey Willy, could I borrow that new formula the next time Mom fixes liver and onions?"

"Might be a good idea – let me know how it works out and we might market it the same way."

They discussed the idea as they traveled through the factory, arriving at the tunnel entrance and coming down the stone staircase just as the door was opening.

L.A. came through first, her bright smile flashing in her dusky face, "Hello Won-Ka. I present to you, Ms. Veronica Carmichael, fresh from her first triumphant battle with the press."

The woman that stepped through the door only superficially resembled the rumpled figure that had haunted the factory for weeks on end. Willy's eyes widened at Veronica's appearance.

She looked taller, thanks to clothes that were tailored for her and the three inch heels on her feet. The cool grey-green color suited her coloring and made her skin glow with health and her hair gleam warmly. The shorter length flattered her face, the color touched with subtle shine making Willy want to run his fingers through it. She wore a new winter coat in a charcoal grey, belted to show off her slender waist. Veronica cut an elegant figure, an air of old-world class and sophistication that graced the eye and charmed the observer.

Her beautiful hazel eyes watched his, apprehensively waiting for his reaction to this new look. Jumping to attention, he smiled and moved forward to take her hand and place a kiss on her cool cheek, "You look beautiful."

"Do you really think so? I feel like a fool all dolled up like this…" she flushed slightly, glancing down and shuffling her feet awkwardly.

"Nonsense, it's just a bit more apparent what a gorgeous creature you are. I see I'm going to have to put in a call to Goons-R-Us to beat off all your suitors with sticks," Willy said, squeezing her hand and making her look up at him.

A shy smile crossed her face and his breath was literally stolen with the beauty of it.

"Thanks, but there's only one guy I'm interested in. The rest of the world can go hang," Veronica said softly, staring up into his eyes. He started to move forward, lost in the moment, longing to kiss her so much he could taste it…

They were interrupted by a discrete cough.

"How about a break for a few hours before we get some more media training in? I want to take a look at what they got this afternoon so I know what to focus on. I'll also get with Doris and get a couple of event invitations to look over and figure out where you go first." L.A. said, slightly embarrassed at the obvious love the two outsiders held for one another.

Not waiting for an answer, she snagged Charlie by the sleeve of his sweater, "Don't you have some homework to do?"

Charlie waved as he was tugged from the room and hauled off to the waiting Wonkavator. "See you later! You look lovely by the way!"

Veronica chuckled at the ham-handed exit, "She's about as subtle as a hurricane. Thank God! Now where were we?"

She stepped forward to collect the promised kiss, but Willy pulled back releasing her hands.

"So, what did you think of the apartment? Does it meet your expectations? If you like it, I was thinking you could move in after New Year's and get settled…" He babbled, turning to walk up the stairs.

"Willy. Wait a minute. Come back here," she protested, reaching out to snag his jacket and arrest his movement.

He reluctantly paused and allowed her to wrap her arms around his neck and lean in again to collect a slow kiss.

Her lips were so soft against his, like the finest rose petals. Her breath puffed pleasantly against his face and she tasted like cinnamon. His heavy arms found themselves wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer. Closing his eyes, he concentrated. She felt warm and strong in his arms, the clothing not concealing her slender frame. She smelled of ginger and amber – light and floral with a sweet musky undertone that sent a thrill up his spine, appealing directly to the animal side of his mind. His lips begged for entrance and she parted them allowing his velvet tongue to slip in and caress her.

A soft wanting noise broke from her throat.

Willy was suddenly thrown back into the memory of his dream at the noise.

"_You're going to lie there at take what's coming to you without question or complaint. Understand?"_

He jerked back and tripped on the stair, falling back with a cry of alarm. Veronica staggered with the sudden release, her eyes flying open, "Willy?"

"S…so...Sorry! I…um..." He stuttered, jumping to his feet and backing up the stairs away from her.

"What's the matter? Are you alright?" she cried, concerned at his sudden refusal to meet her eyes.

"N...no...nothing! I'm just going…" he flailed an arm up the stairs, a manic plastic grin plastered across his face, but his eyes were frightened.

"Willy stop," Veronica ordered in her most authoritative voice.

Back tuned, she could see him take a deep breath, shoulders slumped.

"I'm sorry Veronica," he said, turning to face her, defeated expression on his face.

She climbed the stairs until she could reach him, "Please, sit down. Tell me what's bothering you. You're starting to scare me."

She pulled him down to sit on the stone steps, taking a seat next to him and draping one arm across his shoulders and taking his hand with hers.

"Now. Start at the beginning. You left early this morning. Your note indicated that something was on your mind and now you're jumping away from me like I'm the boogeyman. What happened?"

"I had a nightmare last night," Willy said in a small voice. "It disturbed me enough that I couldn't go back to sleep, so I got up and started working. It's been haunting me all day."

As a veteran of many nightmares, she rubbed her thumb soothingly across the back of his glove-clad hand, "What was it about."

"I was working…I heard a noise. You were crumpled in a corner, bruised and hurt, I was frozen but another me went over and…" Willy's voice faltered and she could feel him beginning to shake. "I felt so sick, so disgusted with myself…"

"Willy. I doubt what you did was so horrible that you feel the need to beat yourself like this," Veronica said encouragingly trying to reassure him.

Willy turned his head to meet her eyes, the loathing at himself apparent, "I raped you – I raped you and tossed you aside to face the frozen me when I managed to scream."

Shocked at his words, she simply stared at him.

"I let my anger color what should have been a beautiful thing and corrupted it. How can you stand me?" He said angrily.

Veronica mulled the matter quickly. His disproportionate guilt had been growing since last night and the dream just exacerbated it. She's hoped her words in the bath had dismissed the matter, but apparently that wasn't the case. He was still somehow laboring under the impression that he had hurt her and there was nothing she could say to dissuade him. This might take something a bit stronger.

If he was afraid of losing control of his passion and hurting her, she'd have to help him realize how strong his will truly was. Veronica trusted Willy with her life, her soul and her heart. He had no idea what he did to her.

So she'd have to show him.

"So you're saying that I should be angry and hurt with you? That you feel like you used me even though I was unaware of your anger at the time?" Veronica asked in a neutral tone, thinking at the speed of light.

Willy was silently crying, feeling abandoned and lost, "Yes. I know what you said last night should have been the end of it, but I can't. I just can't let it go like that…"

"Let go of your anger or the guilt?"

"The guilt."

Veronica sighed, "Oh Willy. This just proves what a good man you are. The fact that you continue to beat yourself up over this…"

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

She reached over and cupped his chin, drawing his eyes up to meet hers. Her heart broke at the hopeless expression in their violet depths, "Listen to me. You are a wonderful man Willy Wonka. So kind and gentle – violent emotion is so strange to you that simple anger, an emotion that every person on the planet deals with on a daily basis, has thrown you for a loop. There is nothing I can say to make you feel better, but I think I know of something I can do to help you."

Willy slowly nodded and she rewarded him with a long lingering kiss. She could feel his desire, but it was heavily tempered with his fear of harming her.

She stood, drawing him up to stand next to her, "Okay – first. I want you to take me to your room."

Willy was surprised, "My room? What for?"

Veronica shook her head, "We need privacy for this and I would rather not be interrupted. Let's go."

They were silent on the journey, she clung to his hand and he was content to follow.

When they reached his room, she closed and locked the door, leaning back against it to stare at the forlorn figure. "Willy. I want you to listen to me carefully. If you want me to help you, I need you to follow my directions exactly and without argument. Are you willing to do that?"

Willy looked confused, but nodded slowly.

"Good. Now, whatever you do, don't touch me. Let me do all the work. The moment you touch, we're stopping. Understand?" Veronica said sternly, moving with sensuous grace to stand close to him.

Swallowing hard, he unwillingly started to feel aroused despite his angst, "Yes."

Veronica leaned up to remove the hat from his head, hanging it gently from the coat rack by the door. Next, she removed her own coat and hung it up. The neat folds of her clothing doing little to distract him from the feminine curves of her body.

Her scarred hands trailed lightly across his shoulders as she circled around behind him. She tugged the jacket from him and hung it next to hers. Willy was starting to feel warm and wanted to caress her, but made himself keep his arms limp by his side. Her hands slid along his side under his arms to unbutton his vest and slowly removed that from his body as well.

He jerked, resisting the urge to turn and capture her in his arms. She circled back to face him, dragging her hands across his shirt clad sides, making him convulse slightly at the ticklish sensation,

But he didn't touch her.

Smiling her approval, Veronica lifted one of his hands, tugging the latex covering from his fingers with precise little jerks. Glove removed, she kissed every fingertip before returning it to his side. She did the same with his other hand, cradling it against her face for a moment before letting it too drop to his side. She carefully disposed of the gloves properly in the trash can before returning her attention to him.

Willy was enthralled. He passively let her unpin the decorative brooch and unbutton his shirt, breathing growing heavy as her fingers caressed the exposed skin of his chest. He licked his lips as he watched her move, becoming more aroused with each article of clothing removed.

She knelt to unzip his boots and he caught himself as he raised his hand to stroke the soft hair curling delicately around her face. "Lift your foot," she murmured, looking up at him with dark green eyes.

He wobbled, but managed to balance as she removed his boots and his socks from each foot. With soft stroking touches, she ran her hands up the long length of his legs to unbuckle his belt.

The air left his lungs in a burst – he stiffened and tossed his head back at the image, her kneeling before him in this manner. He was aroused and disturbed at the sight. He fought against his baser instinct, fought to keep from reaching out and managed to regain control.

"Easy now," he heard her say in a low voice. She rose to her feet and placed both hands on his chest, rising up on tiptoe to place a kiss on his lips. "You're doing well. Just take a deep breath and relax for a moment before I continue."

He kept his eyes closed and took several deep breaths, letting them out as slowly as he could. He could sense her standing nearby, but she didn't touch him again until he opened his eyes and nodded.

"Your will is strong. Just relax and let me do the work," she whispered, kissing him once more. Veronica reached up and pushed the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Holding his darkening eyes with her own, she unbuttoned his pants and pushed them off his hips to join the shirt on the floor. Leaning up to kiss him hungrily, she carefully did the same to his underwear, letting them too puddle at his feet.

"Step out," she said softly, helping him balance as he stepped away, standing naked before her.

Veronica studied him, chest heaving, muscles trembling slightly with tension. He was half-aroused and her mouth watered at the side of the raw need in his eyes. "Lay back on the bed," she whispered huskily, gently pushing him backward.

Willy's eyes never left hers as he obeyed, pulling himself back to rest against the pillows at the head of the bed.

Nodding with satisfaction, Veronica began to slowly undress herself. Making sure her eyes were locked with him, she unbuttoned the shirt, sliding it from her shoulders, next went the slacks, sliding down her legs to join the pile of clothing at her feet. She left one the light purple lace bra and matching thong panties.

Willy groaned at the wanton sight of her. She paused a moment, allowing him to take pleasure from her before stepping forward carefully to climb up on the bed, straddling his body, hovering so close he could feel her body heat, but still not touching.

"Now, I want you to lay back and enjoy this. Remember, no touching unless I tell you otherwise. Understand?"

Willy had to swallow twice before he could manage to rasp out, "Yes."

Veronica leaned forward to kiss him again, lips caressing his and nudging open his mouth with a few tentative prods of her tongue. She took a long time tasting him, wrestling with his lips before moving on.

He groaned in disappointment, only to hiss as her curious lips traced his chin to the sensitive lobes of his ears. She breathed heavily and whispered, "You taste delicious."

She rubbed gently against him, a simple brush of her thigh against his hip, but he felt it like a burning brand. The game she was playing had him so sensitized that every small touch, every stroke, every inadvertent brush was more erotic than the Karma Sutra.

She allowed her breast in their frilly casing to brush against his exposed chest and he groaned at the contact. So close, yet so far…he wanted more.

"Please." He begged, longing with such intensity to touch her.

"Not yet," she replied, following the long trail from his ear down to his chest with its flat brown nipples.

Willy discovered a new torture as she teased and nipped, lavishing attention on one and then the other, her flat belly occasionally brushing up against his waiting manhood. The cries and whimpers she wrung out of him echoed through the room, the setting sun through the stained-glass window overhead giving her an unearthly glow. As he was lost in sensation, it seemed that his earthly lover had been replaced by some divine avatar sent as both reward and punishment for his transgressions.

She slid down lower, her breath brushing against his sensitive glans and he shivered. Sweat had broken out all over his body with the effort of not moving and his muscles felt as tight as piano wire, this was utter torment, utter hell and he didn't want it to end.

"How are you doing? Are you in any pain?" she asked in a low voice.

"Please don't stop…I want to touch you. Please? Let me touch you?" he whined in a high voice, panting with the effort of holding himself back.

"Not yet - soon. Feel that tide rising? I know I torment you, but you'll understand soon…"

Watching his face, she lapped at him, drawing back as he bowed back, a strangled yell erupting from his throat. She caressed him with her scarred fingers and he sobbed at the wonderful sensations. He was completely lost.

"Please…oh God, please," he begged shamelessly. He wasn't sure what he was begging for any more, for release or for her to continue.

Realizing that she had reached his limit in this respect without causing him to erupt, she stopped, sitting up and removed the bra, tossing it to the side revealing her small perfect breast. Willy growled low in his chest at the sight.

She slid off the bed, pulling off the panties and returning to straddle him once more – mere inches from where he longed to bury himself in her moist heat. He could feel her radiating against his waiting flesh.

His hands twitched again and Willy had to exert almost superhuman effort not to move. Veronica smiled warmly, her hands caressing her flesh as she watched him, passion burning brightly in her eyes.

She reached down and Willy moaned as he watched her touch herself, "Oh…oh…oh my. P...pl…please!"

He was going to explode, he was walking the tightrope between pleasure and pain watching her. Veronica tilted her head back and moaned at the sensation of her fingers against her most intimate center.

"Do you feel that, where you are now? Like you would do anything to finish? Hanging between heaven and hell?" she growled, her eyes a deliriously burning green. She looked like a goddess incarnate and he was a humble priest begging to worship.

"Yes. I want…I need..." he panted, weeping at the bittersweet sensation.

"That's where you had me last time – in this state…and this is where you showed your mercy. You showed resistance where others failed. You've given me pleasure where they only took pain. Remember this moment and forgive yourself," Veronica hissed, meeting his eyes.

Leaning back, she positioned the tip his waiting length into her eager channel.

"Now," she commanded.

He thrust with his hips, rocketing up into her with a muffled scream from both of them. With new reverence, he clutched her hips and pulled her down to meet him again. She whimpered at the intensity and he could feel the impending orgasm creeping up on her. He wouldn't be long behind her.

Willy shot up, arms wrapping around this fiery woman to draw her down again, groaning like a lost soul at the satisfaction and relief at being able to hold her again. She bucked hard and was lost within a few strokes, her inner muscles drawing his long-awaited release with a cry.

It went on forever. Sight and sound were lost to sensation as he came, stars exploded in his vision and he fell for an eternity, cradling the burning form of his lover in his grateful arms.

He must have blacked out, because when he came back to himself, she was leaning up and stroking the strands of hair sticking to his face out of the way. He was wheezing as he gobbled great lungful of life-giving air. Her own face was flushed and her eyes sparkled with good humor.

"Now. How do you feel?" Veronica purred, pulling one stubborn strand of hair away from where it was tangling in his eyelashes.

"Better. Much better," Willy said, stretching slightly and drawing her down to lay across his chest.

"Good. Now the next time you feel like trying to martyr yourself because you feel angry and want to run away in guilt, I want you to pull up that memory."

"I will. I think I also understand now what you meant before about not really hurting you…it was the anticipation wasn't it?" Willy asked softly, running the shortened strands through his fingers and smiling at the way they curled around his digits as if reluctant to let him go.

"Yes. The anticipation and teasing heightened everything so when I came, it felt more like a tactical nuclear explosion," Veronica said, satisfied that the shadow of fear and self-loathing was finally banished from his bright lavender eyes.

They drowsed for the next few minutes, their heart rates finally slowing to normal and the usual lassitude weighing their entwined limbs.

"While shopping today, I had an idea," Veronica said, startling him out of his half-doze.

"Hm? What's that?"

She explained her idea and Willy had to throw back his head and laugh with delight.

"You see! This is why I love you…always thinking and planning. It'll make a great addition on a smaller scale to the Valentine's day line if you'll let me market it," He crowed, grinning like a loon.

"Sure, but I want to test it at the first function that Charlie and I decide to attend." She smirked, snuggling closer and absently drawing circles on his chest.

Willy flinched and grabbed at her hands, she easily avoided him and they mock-struggled for a few moments, neither really interest in winning, but rather making the other laugh.

"The answer is yes by the way. I will take the apartment for the proposed amount. It is lovely and I'm glad you suggested it." Veronica said, kissing him lightly on the tip of his nose.

"Good. For some reason, especially after today, I want to keep you close at hand for some odd reason," Willy said with mild sarcasm.

"Good thing, You're not getting rid of me that quickly."

Willy collected a slow kiss before replying, "That's what I was hoping for."


	45. Chapter 45

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Mr. Wonka wished to communicate his wish to be left alone to the press at large – three reporters attempted to break into the factory last night and…well, let's just say to avoid gummy candy for a while – especially the cherry. _– _Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 43**

"_This is Sleeza Hart reporting for Y! Television – your Celebrity fix. We're here live outside the Worthington Hall in London where the Cancer UK annual Charity auction is about to begin. Stars shine in the skies and on the red carpet this evening. Joining me is Victor Brahm, chef and caterer to the stars!"_

The impossibly blonde woman in the sparkling blue dress and bright white smile turned the microphone to the tuxedo-clad man next to her. His wavy dark blond hair was casually tousled in an appealing way and his brown eyes sparkled with good humor.

"_Victor! We hear that Miss O herself has invited you to do three more appearances on her show. As our viewers already know, your first appearance on her daytime television talk show earlier this week was a resounding hit. So you sense a series in the making_?" Sleeza said, her lips barely moving from around her blinding smile held for the camera.

Victor laughed lightly, looking her in the eyes, "_Sleeza! I'm thrilled that Miss O found my cooking so delicious she had to share it with the world. I'm honored that she has indeed invited me back for more appearances. As for the rumors about a show…well, who knows at this point? If we get enough requests, it might happen_."

He was comfortable in front of the camera, occasionally waving at other people he knew from the A-List back in California, he knew this is where he belonged. He had worked for years to ensure that.

Miss O, satisfied with his _personal_ performance on Christmas had invited him to prepare light, easy meals on television in front of her live audience. Other than having to ensure that the meals for the crowd were prepared ahead of time by his staff, he managed to pull off the performance of a lifetime.

Personally, he found the woman revolting and her coy little games more appropriate for a woman half her age. The power she held helped his flagging libido and he and focused on that rather than her physical charms (which were still flagging even after extensive visits to her plastic surgeon) to pass muster. He had to mentally replace her saggy body with one of his favorite fantasies – the one with the skinny woman with brown-red hair and sad hazel eyes who pleaded so prettily with him…

Miss O had been sated and he had played her game according to her rules and had won a prize. Victor had come back to London to work this specific event at the request of his patron…or would that be matron?

One reason alone drew him back to soggy old London - to get air time in front of the camera.

If he could generate some contact with some of this crappy human interest in Charity events, his fortune would be made.

The bright light was hot against his face, even with the sub-arctic winter night as they and the rest of the crowd of fans and media waited outside the hall, watching the glittering hoards arrive.

_Whoops…almost lost his attention there…_

"_I wanted to personally make sure that the UK Cancer Research organization gets the full support of me and Miss O. After all isn't it the purpose of tonight to alleviate the suffering of others?_" Sometimes he couldn't believe the crap pouring out of his mouth. Still, the camera loved him and he loved the opportunities presented to him with every appearance.

He joked lightly with Sleeza for a few minutes, commenting on past clients and some of the usual plugs for their recent movies or guest appearances, only to stutter to a stop as the camera dropped and the duo grabbed their ears to listen to what the producer was saying on the other end.

Without a word of explanation, the camera light died and Sleeza's attention dropped from him like yesterday's veggies.

Turning away from him she held a bracelet-laden arm up to her ear bud to listen hard for a moment, the smile dropping from her face, "What? Stan, are you sure? Here?!"

The woman whirled away and trotted on impossibly high heels without another word, the cameraman running after her toward the street. Victor stared in stunned disbelief, he'd just been ditched!

_What the hell was going on to jerk the spotlight from him so suddenly?_

Victor could sense that someone very important was arriving – the same way pack animals circled in on weakened prey. He made sure his hair was perfect in the window reflection, adjusting his tux and checking to make sure his breath was fresh. Whoever it was would have to pass right by him and he was already mentally trotting out a casual greeting to whoever was arriving.

Jumbled whispers raced through the crowd and in a moment, all attention was directed at the curb where a long purple limo with a stylized golden "W" was pulling up to the curb.

"Wonka!" Victor breathed. _This was impossible, he never left the factory!_

A driver stepped around to open the door. Flash bulbs went off like a supernovas as the door opened.

_This is my big chance to get in with Wonka!_ Victor thought with glee – his plan was paying off!

A young man stepped out, his dark hair neatly trimmed and wearing a dapper black tuxedo, the cut and quality of cloth obviously very expensive. Tall and lanky with a wholesome appeal, he looked to be about 15 or so. He smiled at the crowd, waving a hand at the cheers from the fans.

"Charlie Bucket! Over here Charlie!" the photographers went nuts, flashes of light popping all around as the famous teen leaned down to assist someone else from the vehicle.

A shapely long leg clad in a gold strap sandals with three inch heel emerged followed by it mate, the long jersey material of the dress sliding down silken thighs as the woman stood.

Victor felt his jaw unhinge. _No! This is impossible…_

Veronica waved and smiled as the yells and cheers from the crowd reached a new deafening level. Her smile was relaxed and her manner open and friendly.

Despite the cold, she wore a sleeveless clinging gown of dark mossy green with a subdued golden sparkle twinkling in its depths as she moved. The halter top was held in place by a sparkling torc of filigreed gold, matching the gold bangles around one slender wrist. The dress dipped low in the back draping just below her lower back. It looked like the necklace was the only thing holding the dress on.

Victor found himself unwillingly aroused at the sight.

Charlie offered her his arm and she slid one hand to rest in the crook, allowing the young man to guide her toward the entrance.

The stunning woman greeted several of the reporters with a smile and before meeting the Y! reporter by name, "Sleeza! How are you?" she asked warmly, as she and Charlie paused on the red carpet.

"_Veronica Carmichael and Charlie Bucket! Making an appearance for the Cancer UK benefit – what draws you out of the factory tonight_?" Sleeza asked, her trilling tones and smile straining on her face.

"_We're here tonight to represent Wonka Inc to show our support for this important cause_," Charlie said, his voice pitched to be heard over the crowd. "_We want to do our part to make sure that the cure for cancer can be found and that the researchers and scientist get the funding they need and deserve to wage this battle. Mr. Wonka and I agreed that Cancer UK could use all the support it could get battling this horrible disease, so we came together to offer a 25 million dollar grant for research and development of a cure_."

Sleeza made an "o" of surprise with her bright red lips and Charlie continued, "_We also worked with the planners to ensure that tonight's guest get the opportunity to donate as well. Ms. Carmichael has designed and donated one of her sculptures to be auctioned off – the proceeds are also donated to the charity_."

Nodding absently, Sleeza pushed Charlie into a more personal realm, "_You look quite grown up tonight Charlie. Feeling comfortable in the public eye_?"

Charlie grinned at the woman, "_Once I managed to got Mum to help me with my tie I was ready to go. As for being under such scrutiny – it's to be expected as the heir to such a wonderful factory_."

Sleeza nodded, impressed with the delivery from the teenage heart-throb. Charlie blushed charmingly as a group of teen-age girls cheered and yelled. One voice rang out, "I love you Charlie!"

Turning on Veronica, the reporter decided to try and move beyond the free advertising for the charity and into the juicy gossip she knew was there, "_Veronica – what you look lovely! Where did you get your dress_?"

The woman blushed slightly and said, "_The dress was designed by Armand Digonnio and Spencer Talbot for me_."

_I'm sure it's tear away for easy access too_, Victor thought bitterly. Even he had to admit she was a far cry from the mousy little kitchen drudge he'd worked with and lusted over. If he didn't know better, her poise and bearing would make him think that she was a real lady_. But he did know better_.

"_Veronica – your amazing rags-to-riches story working for Willy Wonka must feel like a dream. We've found a few samples of your work, but nothing quite like your collaboration with Wonka Inc. You worked with the reclusive Chocolatier to jointly produce your amazing Candy Globes for the Christmas season. How did you succeed where others failed_?" Sleeza asked, directing the microphone at Veronica.

Victor was inarticulate with rage, his hands clenched into fists as he glared at the woman who had beaten him to Wonka. _Little bitch…sure, tell the truth..."I hoisted my skirt and he fell over himself to do my bidding."_

"_Pure luck – Mr. Wonka is a supporter of up and coming confectioners and candy artisans, I just caught his attention with my work and well…the rest is history_," She answered humbly. "_It's a good partnership and I enjoy working with such a creative genius_."

"_What can you tell us about the man_?" The Y! reporter prodded.

Veronica responded smoothly with a smile, "_Mr. Wonka is a wonderful caring individual. His heart is bigger than his factory_."

Sensing an opening, the Y! reporter eyed Veronica's accessories, "_The jewelry looks beautiful! Is this a gift from Mr. Wonka_?"

Veronica with an impish gleam in her eye nodded, "_In a way_." Then she surprised the woman by bringing one of the gold bangles up to her mouth and crunching down on it with small white teeth.

"_This is part of a new line that Carmichael Productions and Wonka Inc. are working on for Valentine's Day. We're calling it 'Berry Bling'!_" She said proudly, holding up the bangle with the bite mark clearly shown. "_Candy accessories in a variety of styles and flavors_."

She offered the surprised reporter a small piece which she took and nibbled at with trepidation.

"_Ooh! This is really good_," Sleeza exclaimed surprised. She half-turned to the camera, "_Such wonderful generosity! You heard it first – compassionate care from Wonka Inc and a sneak preview into the latest and greatest from the minds of Carmichael and Wonka_."

Veronica gave a secretive grin, winking at the camera, and nibbling on the remains of her bangle.

As the reporter and cameraman moved away to interview the next celebrity, the pair moved up the red carpet and passed within feet of him. Victor fought to keep his face clear, but the young man escorting her caught his eye. Charlie recognized Victor from television and saw the expression of fury and frustration spasm across his face before it settled. He moved a little brisker, ushering Veronica safely inside. Giving one final wave, they disappeared from sight.

_She has to die_

Victor snarled, his face red with suppressed rage.

She had stolen his spotlight AGAIN!

_This is personal now_.

--

It was close to 1 a.m. when the limo pulled up in front of the old building that Veronica now called home. Charlie was yawing frequently and he was half-asleep in his seat. Used to odd hours, Veronica was tired, but more used to the sensation than the growing boy.

"Good thing it's Friday night – you get to sleep in this morning," she said cheerfully.

Charlie looked at her blearily, "I have to find my bed first. Are you alright, here?"

She nodded and pecked him on the cheek, "Thanks Charlie. You were quite the gentleman tonight and I know quite a few ladies who will feature you in their dreams."

He blushed, "Yes, well…"

Veronica laughed at his discomfort as she opened the door, "Night Charlie. Don't let the bedbugs bite."

He waited until she was safely inside and the front door of the building closed. Charlie abandoned the pretense of exhaustion and grabbed for the phone in the back of the limo. While the car pulled away to circle around to the back gate, he clutched the phone tightly listening to the phone ring.

"Welcome to Wonka Incorporated. You wish to continue in English, press 1 now. Para continuar en español, ahora presione por favor 2. If you wish to speak to a real live human being, check your clock and call at a reasonable time when decent people aren't fast asleep…," came the light tenor of the famous Chocolatier.

"Willy, it's me," Charlie said urgently

"Hey Charlie! How's it go? Are you on your way back yet?" Willy chirped, abandoning the pretense of being an automated system. "I saw you guys on TV. You looked really great!"

"We're back, she's safely home. Listen, I saw Victor Brahm in the crowd tonight. He looked really pissed off," the teen blurted.

"Watch the language," Willy said automatically, "Where? Did he attempt to get any closer?"

"Right when we got there – standing outside in the crowd by the front door. I didn't see him anywhere else, but he was wearing a tux so he probably was attending the benefit."

"Did Veronica see him?" Willy asked, worried.

"I don't think so. She didn't act any different or say anything."

Willy breathed a sigh of relief, "Good. No use worrying her about this. Listen, get back here ASAP. I'm notifying Smiley about a change in our security status. You head for home and get some sleep, 'kay?"

"What about Veronica? Shouldn't we let her know?" Charlie asked, concerned.

"Leave that to me."

--

Veronica closed the door to her new apartment and looked around in satisfaction. The airy space still was sparsely furnished and didn't have that 'lived-in' feeling yet, but it was still with a great deal better than living in the factory or in her old place.

She had painted the walls of her living room a rich magenta and hand-painted a few decorative swirls in black and gold on the wall with the large overstuffed black sofa. There were a few standing lamps and a new flat screen television bolted to the wall across the couch with several DVD cases and discs scattered around. She ignored all that to pass into the bedroom. She smiled at the large queen-sized bed with its mossy green sheets and luxurious high-weave cotton duvet. It wasn't made of course and the mess of her room with its scattered clothes and other newly purchased items felt comfortable. It was good to have a home again.

She gratefully sat on the bed and unbuckled the sandals, groaning in relief when her feet could resume the shape given to them by nature. Throwing the shoes into the open wardrobe with a thump, she stood and unfastened the necklace holding her dress up. Once released, the rest collapsed around her ankles and she stepped out scratching herself vigorously. _Much better._

Pulling on the over sized tee shirt she preferred to sleep in, Veronica quickly washed the cosmetics off her face and gave her teeth a quick brush. Returning to the living room, she crossed over to the desk she'd rescued off the curb last week to check her e-mail on the new laptop. There was one message from Willy dated from just a few minutes ago. She happily clicked on the message:

_Welcome Home Beautiful!_

_Hope your evening went well. I'll bring over the footage L.A. taped so we can MST3K it tomorrow night. Get some sleep and I'll see you soon._

_Love Willy (Aka: __Stud Muffin?)_

Veronica laughed at the latest nickname. _Stud muffin? Where did he keep coming up with this stuff?_

Putting the computer back in to sleep mode, she shut off the lights, made sure the door was locked and padded to her bed. Willy had a key, but he had so far respected her privacy and always let her know when he was heading over to visit and she returned the courtesy.

She hadn't put curtains up yet, so the street lights illuminated the room. Cars passing down the street threw bright streams of light followed by the growl of an engine as it rolled by. Veronica stared at the ceiling, feeling tired, but not yet ready to sleep.

She still felt on edge, as she had been all evening. At first she thought it was because this was their first "official" public appearance for their respective companies and she was trying to be on her best behavior. But it still felt like hateful eyes had been drilling into the back of her skull during dinner and during the auction of her work.

Sighing, Veronica curled up on her side cuddling a pillow and brought the blankets up higher around her ears.

She missed Willy.

It had only been about two weeks since she moved in. Willy would visit about every two days or so. She made an effort to get over to the factory as frequently as possible, but there was still the odd day or so when they would miss each other - either an emergency would pop up and he was stuck fixing the machinery or too involved in the Invention Room to pay attention to the time.

Veronica didn't worry – she was wrapped up finishing the spun sugar sculpture of the new medical center for the benefit to really notice his absence. There had been other queries for her business as well, but thanks to the nice padding in her account, there wasn't the pressing need to work, so she could actually undertake projects that interested her, rather than just paid the bills.

The time they spent together felt so warm and comfortable. He wasn't just her lover or her business partner, he was her best friend. She loved his humor – the dry quirky way of looking at the world and the observations that he usually kept to himself, but shared with her. So far, her favorite way to spend an evening together was to have dinner, wash up, put on a bad movie and spend the time talking or making rude comments about the actors. Sometimes he would spend the night, but it he made certain that it wasn't an automatic assumption every time he came over or vice versa. Willy was giving her the requested distance, but as her feelings grew she wondered why she had wanted that distance in the first place.

Her eyes began to drift close and she allowed herself to slip under.

--

She walked the city streets, the heels she was growing accustomed to clicking against the pavement with hollow pops. The sun had set and the only thing lighting her path was the streetlights in the cold night air. A cold winter rain slithered down making the footing treacherous and the concrete looked slimy. She was alone

Then there was another set of footsteps behind her – heavier, echoing menacingly against the tall dark buildings around her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a figure, dressed in a grey jacket and watch cap with hands stuffed deep in his pockets walking around her. Nervous, she walked a bit faster, clutching her messenger bag.

His steps also grew faster.

She shot another glance over her shoulder at the man, but the passing light overhead threw shadows over his face, preventing her from seeing him. Her heart started to race and her throat dried making it impossible to swallow.

Veronica felt a cold sweat break out. Fight or flight?

Falling back on her most reliable response, she broke out in to an awkward run. The heels made it impossible to hit her stride and she wobbled alarmingly. The following footsteps had disappeared, but she kept running to the next lamp.

Not seeing where she was going because she had dared another look over her shoulder, she crashed into a warm body, her ankle twisting off the heel and buckling under her with a cry of pain and surprise.

Hands clutched at her, preventing her from falling. She looked up into who had caught her and she gasped in horror.

Marcus.

He smiled his sweet smile with dead eyes…the one that was the same whether they had been on a date or while he was approaching to burn her with the glowing poker. She tried jerking away from him, but his grasp on her arms was too strong. "Let me go!" she pleaded, throwing her weight away from him.

"Never. You're mine," his voice said, even thought the smile never moved or faded.

She felt naked, exposed. The thin clothing she was wearing was soaked through by the cold rain and she shivered – her body starting to go numb. The strappy sandals on her feet wound up her calves, making them impossible to kick off so she'd have a decent chance of running. Marcus was still clutching her shoulders, his thumbs pressing painfully into the muscle of her arms as he shook her.

_Not this time…not again_, she thought. Her breath sawed painfully in her throat as she tried fighting past the panic to figure out a way to escape.

Veronica twisted in his grasp, kicking at his shins and stabbing at his eyes with stiffened fingers. Not expecting this approach, he released her in surprise and she stumbled back.

Another set of arms clutched her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides lifting her into the air making it impossible to escape. She screamed, eyes rolling wildly and bucked, trying to fight this new menace.

Marcus straightened and approached, "Maybe my associate should introduce himself."

Veronica was thrown forward suddenly, staggering to hit the stone wall with a crack that set her shoulder ablaze. She whirled to face the new man.

It was Victor.

Dressed in the grey jacket and watch cap, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes and lust twisting his features. He leered at her soaked and numb body, "I can see why you wanted to keep that covered up."

She cringed away from them, sinking to try and cower against the wall as they drew closer – her heart was racing and she felt sick in the face of the oncoming horror. Both of their faces were twisted and cannibalistic, leering and hated. Veronica tried to force her cold body to stand, to face down these monsters, but weakness sapped her energy and all she could do was tremble – already feeling the awful singing pain of broken bones and bruised flesh she knew was coming.

_I don't know if I can survive both of them. I'm going to die aren't I?_

Victor reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife, the sharp edge catching the dim light of the basement and throwing the glare into her terrified eyes. Marcus had the rope he had bound her in once before looped loosely in his hands and they moved like predators toward her.

She screamed, a high wail of hopelessness and despair, closing her eyes so she couldn't see them coming.

Veronica felt a hand grab her and she flailed blindly, "No! No! No! Not again! Never!" Her thin clothing tore and she could feel the coarse grasp crushing her arms. She was sobbing and trying to struggle, but she couldn't move.

"Veronica!"

--

Willy had let himself into her apartment to ensure that she was safe and sound. He had intended to slip out just as quietly when her shrieks broke out from the bedroom. Fearing the worst he had grabbed his cane like a baseball bat and charged into her bedroom ready to fend off her attacker.

Instead, he was confronted by Veronica, twisting violently in her sleep. Her eyes were screwed close, whimpers and sobs wrenched from her throat. She clawed at the sheets, her feet tangled in the blankets.

He dropped the cane and moved to scoop her into his arms, stroking her face and forehead lightly, "Veronica. Veronica! Wake up, Starshine – you're having a nightmare." He crooned, trying to soothe her.

Instead, she swatted at him, scrabbling back screaming, "No! No! No! Not again! Never!"

Fighting down panic, he realized that she was still asleep, "Ronnie! You're safe. I'm here." He cuddled her closer, ignoring her struggles to calm her.

Seeing that she wasn't waking up, he panicked, "Veronica!"

Her eyes shot open and Willy was thrown back into his own nightmare. He had hoped and prayed in vain never to see that kind of pain and terror in her bright eyes when she looked at him. Bolting from his grasp, she threw herself into the bathroom and was noisily sick.

He was frozen, shaking in reaction, his own stomach was twisting and for a moment he thought he'd have to compete for the toilet. Willy forced himself to take a long slow breath, then another. He continued to focus on his breathing until the nausea subsided. _Not now - she needed him!_

Veronica had stopped heaving, clinging to the toilet and sobbing soundlessly instead. Willy quietly rose and ran a washcloth under the tap with cold water, wringing it out before crouching down to gently blot the back of her neck and shoulders.

She sat back wearily and he could see the tear tracks that ran down her white face and the dry cracks in her bloodless lips. Tenderly, he helped her stand and wiped the tears from her eyes before handing her the cloth to wipe her mouth. "Give me a minute, please," she said hoarsely with a weak mockery of a smile. He nodded, his face solemn and stepped out of the bathroom to wait for her.

Breath in, breath out. Willy realized he was still shaking and his eyes burned with tears. He sat heavily on the bed and stared down at his hands. Was he strong enough for this? For her?

The water ran for a minute before she opened the door and stepped out. They studied each other for a moment, scared and confused, before Veronica sobbed again and flung herself onto the floor at his feet, wrapping her arms around his waist to bury her face into his chest as if he were the a rescue raft on a storm-tossed sea.

Willy found himself clinging to her just as fiercely. "It's okay. We're going to be okay," he whispered into her hair over and over. She was shaking, nose running with the intensity of her crying – struggling to reach low choking gulps of air.

"I...it…it w...was…Marcus again." She moaned, her arms aching with the desperate need to cling tighter to the one thing in the world that felt real to her in this moment of terror. "He had help…it was Victor."

Willy stroked her head, going cold at the name, "What happened?"

"They ganged up on me…" Veronica gagged slightly and forced herself to slow down her breathing. She was on the verge of hyperventilating and if wasn't careful would black out.

"It's okay – it was a dream. You're awake now," he said, rocking her softly.

"Willy. I think Victor may have been there tonight. I don't remember seeing him.." she stuttered, starting to come back to herself.

"He was. Charlie spotted him and let me know when he got back. That's why I headed over – to check and make sure you were alright," Willy said gently, releasing her sit next to him on the bed.

"Oh God…" she whispered, curling up, eyes wide with terror – her breathing speeding up again as she struggled against the panic attack.

"Calm down. I'm here. No one will hurt you. It was a dream…let it go." Willy said, staring into her eyes, using whatever willpower he could project into calming her down. "Okay, just take a deep breath in…let it out slowly as you can…in…out…good."

Staring into his lovely violet eyes, she followed his lead taking deep breaths and blowing the air out again as slowly as she could. Her body relaxed by inches and the manic energy that locked her muscles eased. Suddenly, she felt utterly exhausted. Slumping forward, she leaned up against the Chocolatier's warm body, "Thank you. I'm glad you're here."

He helped her lay down again - tucking the blanket up around her shoulders with tender concern.

"Willy? Would you mind staying with me? I don't want to sleep alone tonight," she said softly, feeling foolish and stupid for behaving like such a child.

To her surprise, he chuckled tiredly, "I wasn't planning on it. I just wanted you to ask first."

Willy slipped off his gloves, coat, vest, hat and boots before unpinning his shirt and laying the brooch on top of the pile of clothes. He removed his shirt and pants, draping them over the spare dining room chair that had been placed by the side of the bed. Clad only in his underwear, he crossed around to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers.

Veronica scooted over and took up their favorite comfortable position, her head resting on his chest, listening to the low rhythmic sound of his beating heart and the bellows that was his breathing. She draped one arm across his chest and one leg over his, half turning so her other arm wasn't going to go numb as she laid on it. Willy curled one arm to rest against her back, hand draped across her waist, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you," she whispered, eyes growing heavy despite her fear of dropping right back into the nightmare.

"Love you," she sighed as one more tear rolled from her eye and she drifted to sleep.

"I love you too, Starshine. I'll protect you," Willy whispered, his own energy spent. His eyes sagged shut and he let out one last heavy breath before he too was sound asleep.

They both escaped further nightmares, protecting each other in the night.


	46. Chapter 46

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. The persistence of the media is to be lauded, however their methods leave much to be desired. Mr. Richard Lard and Mike Shatz of the London Equire magazine have been returned to their offices in…mostly…good shape after attempting to sneak in the loading docks. I'm sure a good medical professional specializing in proctology will be able to remove the Super-Sized Lemon Drops without further discomfort, although their embarrassment might prevent them from seeking out professional assistance. Don't mess with Wonka! – __Stealth Phoenix_

_**Warning – disturbing imagery of an adult nature. Violent content – sensitive readers may want to move on. You have been warned.**_

The black cab sat idling across the street while the purple limo pulled away from the curb.

"You gettin' out here, mate?" asked the driver with a strong Liverpool accent. He eyed his passenger in the rearview mirror. Tall bloke, wearing a rumpled tux, slouched in a tan trench coat. He jumped in the cab as the limo was pulling away and demanded he follow it. He'd run up a €45 tab following it out of London and to the nearby town.

Victor sat silent for a moment, watching a light flick on in the upstairs apartment behind a small frosted glass window on the top floor.

"Just wait a few minutes. In a hurry? You're going to get paid either way," He said.

The driver said nothing, turning to mutter into the radio before pulling a book from the passenger seat. He settled in to read "Guards! Guards!" by Terry Pratchett.

Victor worked the bow tie free from his neck as he leaned back on the vinyl seating. He now knew where the bitch lived, but what to do about it?

The light flicked off. He waited a few minutes, but no more turned out – she must have headed for bed.

"Wait here. I'll be back in a few minutes," he ordered, opening the door.

Jumping out into the street, he pulled the coat closer around his throat. It wasn't quite cold enough to snow, but it made the humid air unpleasant to be in.

_God how he hated this town…this country..the idiotic Brits and their oh so superior attitude._

Prowling around the front door, he took quick surveillance of the security measures – reinforced glass windows on the first floor, secured fire escapes, coded key entry into the building. No easy targets here. He glanced around the building and noted the proximity to the factory.

_Makes sense for her to stick close to her meal ticket_, he thought.

Victor had worked hard to escape his roots, but some things you couldn't escape. He'd started with minor work for local enterprising businessmen back in his native New York. A little breaking and entering, a little fee collection for an organized crime syndicate – nothing hard core and nothing that his lust for fame couldn't overcome. In fact, it had helped as his business grew to keep a couple of old friends in the loop to keep them happy and maintain his contacts in the old neighborhood.

In either case, he knew what to look for when scouting a place for a future visit. Victor also made note of the small cameras placed over the entryway and on a light pole across the street. He'd learned his lesson from watching Jake go down, Wonka wouldn't catch him in the same way.

He strolled around the block, making note of the well-lit alleyway with its unusually wide access to the back of the building. _No chance for ambush here_. Looking up, he smirked as he noticed how closely the next building was to this one – it would be a cakewalk to hop from one rooftop to the next and possibly get access that way.

It would take a bit more investigation into who owned the buildings to see if that would work.

Finishing up his walk around the block, he hopped back into the cab.

The driver set the book down and sarcastically asked, "Enjoy your stroll sir?"

"Quite. Back to the Regency Hotel off Kingsbridge in London," Victor said shortly.

The driver grumbled at the long drive, but signaled and pulled back into the street. He'd already made a bundle off this guy, but there was something off about this little trip.

"Your girlfriend get home alright?" he prodded, watching his fare from the mirror.

He knew what the man was after and quickly came up with a story. Victor's face twisted like he'd just bitten into something sour, "Ex-girlfriend actually."

"Bit of a looker that one."

"Looks are deceiving. She's a viper. She's was shacking up with an old friend of mine, and I thought she was going to another rendezvous," Victor said, brushing his hands through his hair and keeping his voice even. "I hate it when I'm right. This is going to kill him."

The driver looked sympathetic and his face cleared of suspicion.

Victor leaned back and closed his eyes, feigning exhaustion. The damn time change hadn't caught up with him yet. It was still early afternoon to his internal clock and he was wide awake.

What to do with the vicious back-stabbing little bitch? He'd fed his anger through the evening, glaring at her back as his staff worked the event. He'd amused himself with images of wrapping his hands around her slender white neck and squeezing – watching her scrabble weakly at his hands as she gasped for breath, her chest heaving, eyes bulging. Her neck would bruise nicely, large purple and black bruises as she ceased struggling and went limp.

She had taunted him at that event – ignoring his presence and chatting with the A-list guest. Her candy model of the new cancer-treatment wing of the Charing Cross medical center had garnered a cool half a million, but it was the fact that Wonka's heir and his maybe-lover/partner that had brought the most attention and prestige to the event. All with her just simpering and flirting with the crowd like the fortune-sniffing gold digger she was.

That dress she was wearing just reinforced the impression to Victor – the open back dipping to hint at crease that led to the swell of her buttocks under the clinging fabric of the dress. Her creamy skin begged to be stroked and touched, but tease that she was, she clung to the jail-bait boy all night. He could occasionally see the sides of her breast from the dress, and that illicit little peep had turned him on enormously. She had smiled, laughed and batted sultry eyelashes at various men all evening as they were drawn to her like a moth to flame.

She was flirting with him without even glancing in his direction. It was if Veronica had been screaming _"See! See what you could have had, but weren't good enough for? Now I've got bigger game than some two-bit hustler panting after me."_

Victor had been so enraged; his staff had cleared a 10 foot no-man's-land circle around him without him realizing it. He'd verbally flay any waiter that had flagged in their hustle to deliver drinks, appetizers, or clearing plates. His head chef, normally above rebuke, had been forced to endure a 5 minute scream-fest when the sauce dressing the seared scallops had cooled beyond Victor's imagined ability to serve it.

The service to the function had been top-notch, surpassing the Olympian expectation of the event organizers – but the fallout was he had three people quit on the spot and his head chef had given him notice. _All of this was Veronica Carmichael's fault._

He'd show her. Maybe he'd take a little personal time with her before dumping her lifeless body in the Thames. _Yes...that might be good_.

_He could break in, late at night while she slept. She'd be splayed out on her bed, blankets twisted around her legs, nightgown riding high on long lean thighs, plump lips parted in sleep and dark lashes shadowing her cheeks. He's strike quickly, muffling her screams and binding her to the bed before she'd even realize what was happening. _

Victor shifted, his weight making the vinyl creak as he crossed his legs to conceal his rising erection at the thought.

_Victor could imagine ripping off the flimsy clothing. He'd enjoy those high firm breast, pinching those rosey buds until she screamed in pain. He'd take his time enjoying her firm body, taking her every way possible and using whatever was at hand to make her make those beautiful noises – screams and sobs. He'd mark her body with those beautiful blue, black and purple bruises on that fair skin, ripping out hair by the handfuls as he rode her to completion. Then as Veronica begged him, bloody and shaking with fear for her life, he would laugh at her and slowly, so he could feel every exquisite twitch, crush the life out of her with his hands._

Chuckling lightly at his flights of fancy, he opened his eyes to see the driver looking at his curiously.

"Just a funny thought," Victor assured him.

The driver returned his attention to the road and Victor to his thoughts. _Lovely fantasy, wouldn't work though. That kind of personal attention would get me caught – and I've worked too damn hard to get caught now. I need to find a way to hurt her from a distance…for now anyway._

What about that fag brother of hers in the news? The one where they shot that video of Veronica playing tonsil hockey with Wonka?

Ah yes. Reginald Carmichael – choreographer on some of the West End shows. He and his little boyfriend had that lovely little bonding ceremony a few weeks ago. He could track them down and perhaps make a bit of trouble. Perhaps an accident or an unfortunate violent mugging would help things along nicely. Victor didn't have many contacts on this side of the pond, but through his connections he was sure that something could be arranged.

Victor's eyes popped open and he smiled darkly. Now that had potential. Hurt the family and he would hurt her.

As for the woman herself, he thought grimly, get her back in California somehow and she'd be right where he could get to her. She'd be no trouble to anyone after that – except maybe the groundskeeper at the municipal cemetery where they buried the John and Jane Does.

More than 100,000 people went missing last year alone, one more wouldn't be noticeable.

He had opened his eyes at just the right moment, they were pulling up to the hotel. Yawning, Victor realized that he must have dropped off for a couple of minutes while so wrapped up in his plans for revenge. Stepping out of the cab and digging through his pockets for the fare, he winced. It had started to drizzle and the cold crept down his neck.

_Damn the Brits and their fucking weather…_

He hastily shoved a wad of bills at the driver mumbling, "Keep the change."

The man counted the bills and sneered, "What? No tip?"

Victor sneered back, "Yeah. Here's a tip – get a real job." He turned and bolted for the door, ducking his head to avoid the rain.

The driver stonily watched Victor dart inside and the door hiss shut before grabbing the radio again.

"Central, I dropped off the suspect at his hotel. Mark time and location – over."

The radio garbled something, and then a female voice squawked, "Roger, Grant. Detective Cavenaugh notified. You're off duty and secondary unit has Stakeout. What was suspect's destination?"

"Carmichael residence – he cased the location and returned to the cab. I've got a feeling that he was looking for a way in."

"Copy that. Cavenaugh wants a report tomorrow when you get on shift," chirped the dispatcher.

"Here Susan, you going to be tucking me in tonight? You know what your dulcet tones do to me…" joked the cabdriver - Officer Niles Grant, Metropolitan Police.

"Dream on Grant – now go home to the Missus, she misses you," said the dispatcher.

Grant grinned and pulled away from the curb. Old Susan was pushing 65 with a retired cop husband at home and three grown girls and two grandbabies to keep her happy. He was married to her eldest daughter, but still enjoyed her son-in-law flirting with her - keeping her young.

"Night Mum!" Grant said, clicking off the radio with a smile.

**Chapter 46**


	47. Chapter 47

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. To the female reporter who attempted to break in to the factory – the Oompa Loompas wish me to relay their gratitude for the good laugh you provided in your attempts to pass as one of them. 1) Their hair is not green, nor is their faces orange. 2) You are about three feet too tall to ever pass as one of the tribe. 3) Being able to carry a tune in a bucket is an essential requirement for membership. Hope you can eat your way out of the toffee trap…eventually. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 47**

Willy watched the news a few weeks later curled up on his favorite beanbag chair in the television room with a fresh batch of popcorn fresh from the microwave.

The fact that his microwave was the platform where he was still working on transmitting matter across the room and a low level pulse from said transmitter nicely caused all the kernels in the bowl to explode at the same time, blowing white puffs all over the platform didn't faze him. New uses for technology and all that…

He smiled in satisfaction when the latest business reports showed his profit margin twenty four points above his nearest competitor.

"Eat that Slugworth," he muttered shoving a few more kernels of popcorn in his mouth.

The music shot up about four times the previous volume and he waved at the worker managing the soundboard to hit the record button while Willy grabbed for the remote to turn the volume down to something that wouldn't leave his ears ringing for the next few hours.

"_Y! Television Trends report brings you the latest in designer fashions and beauty trends – today we're chomping into the latest jewelry trend hitting the market – Berry Bling! This creation from Carmichael and Wonka has hit the stores and is selling out just as quickly…"_

Willy leaned forward, the black lenses of the goggles reflecting the screen eerily.

_The camera cut to on-the-street interviews outside candy stores as girls poured in and out. A few adults mixed with the crowd looking over the displays in pretty boxes with a wide variety of jewelry._

"_Oh my god! They're fab! I have to keep hitting the stores because I keep eating them in class," a pretty teen-age girl gushed as she showed off her newly purchased bangle bracelets._

"_I just love the earrings. It use to be when I lost one, I got so mad because I couldn't use the set – now I just eat the other one and start over," said a well-dressed professional woman with a selection of tasteful earrings and pendants._

"_Popular with pre-teen and college crowds, the ever-changing fashion market has been cornered with Berry Bling as disposable jewelry."_

_A head-shot with a well-known fashion editor wearing a Berry Bling necklace, "It's a great idea – it used to be that all that junk jewelry would clog up your counters at home or in your jewelry box, now a little treat and you're good to go. That's not even mentioning having a portable snack that works as accessories."_

_There was a wide selection of starlets, celebrities and a few professionals and businesswomen photographed wearing Berry Blings._

"Yay!" Willy cheered to himself, tipping some of the popcorn into his lap in his excitement.

"_Others aren't so thrilled with Berry Blings…"_

"Boo!" Willy pouted, sinking back to survey the fallout with a sinking heart. Just when things were looking up…

"_Has anyone bothered to read the calorie content on these things? It represents less than 30 percent of what is needed for a healthy diet…" said a sour faced doctor in a white coat._

"Yeah, well so does any other candy – at least I'm making an effort to slip in a few vitamins," Willy sneered at the screen, throwing a hand full of popcorn at the 'subject expert'.

"_With that challenge in mind, Y! compared the tasty treats to three other products similar to Berry Bling. Slugworth's Jumping Gems and Prodnose's Pretties." _

_The camera cut to an informal panel in a small conference room – the panel is made up of a variety of women from different ages and backgrounds._

The Chocolatier perked up, interested_. _This was an uncommon moment of objective behavior from an otherwise entertainment driven report.

"_Nutritionally, Jumping Gems has half a percent more calcium and Pretties have three percent more potassium, but taste wise there's no comparison…"_

"_Ew! Slugworth's taste like chalk or antacids – Gimme a Wonka!" said a heavyweight middle-aged woman spitting out the sample and grabbing for her soda to wash the taste out of her mouth._

"_Jumping Gems falls apart too easily…what's the point of wearing them if they melt and stick to your skin?" asked one teen-age Goth making a disgusted face and peeling a Jumping Gem from around her neck with black-fingernails._

Willy began to chuckle with glee at the reports of his competitors failure to copy yet another of his recipes, "Heh! Boo-YA!"

"_Berry Blings have fewer calories and more nutritional benefits than imitators – safer too as Prodnose Pretties have recently yanked from the market as a choking hazard for children."_

"_So you heard it here – Wonka and Carmichael's lastest offering is the biggest thing both as a treat and as some of the most fashionable accessories out there."_

Willy got up and started doing a happy dance as Y! cut to another topic; something about some dark-haired actor who worked with that kooky director thinking about making yet another pirate movie. _As if three weren't enough…_

"Send that one to L.A. I know she'll want it for her collection. Where is she anyway?" he asked, collecting his empty popcorn bag and dumping it in the trash can. He ripped off the greasy gloves and added them to the can before replacing them with another pair in black latex. _Ew…popcorn grease_.

"I believe she's got a date," Herman, the television room supervisor said. He was dressed differently than most of the workers in the factory. He had shunned the typical jumpsuit for a long sleeved tee shirt with a wild Hawaiian print shirt open on top of it. Faded jeans and heavy wool socks with open-toed Birkenstock sandals completed the unique fashion statement. The wrap-around sunglasses turned from the console to regard his employer and his face split with a wide grin. "Tupik-Ra finally worked up the courage to ask her out. Finally! After three years!"

Willy nodded, his lawyer had been moping about something, but in the past week or so the normally taciturn Oompa Loompa had been significantly more lighthearted than his usual.

He nodded his approval before turning to leave, "Hey Herman, do me a favor and try to turn off the set before 3 a.m.? You're looking tired again and I don't want to have to talk to Sherman about your Skin-A-Max addiction again."

Herman blushed, "I was just flipping through and something caught my eye…"

The Chocolatier snorted, "Yeah, I bet it caught your eye. I mean it - turn it off and get out of here."

Willy sighed, if only the world knew what he had to deal with.

Herman crossed his arms and bowed as Willy left the room before moving to the beanbag to grab the remote to turn off the television.

"_Up next on Y! the real life account of Jessica Albion's battle with sex addiction and the adult videos that made her famous..."_

"Maybe after this…" Herman muttered with a wide smile, taking a seat on the beanbag and watching the buxom actress in the scanty clothing.

--

There was a knock on her studio door and Veronica, not taking her attention from the gob of sugar or the blowtorch she was working with yelled, "Come in!"

She heard the door open and Willy's cheerful voice call, "Good Evening my luscious schnookie pooh!"

"Um…no," she grinned, not turning around. This was a delicate move to use the very tip of the metal rod holding the gob of melted sugar to 'weld' the tiny piece of ornamentation together.

"Love Dumpling?"

"Absolutely not."

"My precious..ssss"

She had to set the blowtorch down and finally turn to face her lover, shoulders shaking with laughter, "Only if I get to call you Gollum."

Willy came forward to stand before Veronica. She was wearing a pair of magnifying goggles and a leather apron, a smirk tugging at her lips. Smirking, he lifted the goggles to rest on her forehead before hazarding the obstacle to collect a kiss.

"How much longer are you going to be?" he asked, hunger apparent in his voice. Judging from the low growl trailing into a squeak from his stomach, it was the eating type that motivated him to ask this question.

"About 15 more minutes or so, then I've got to let it temper overnight before adding the gilt to the framework. Lady Carrington should be able to collect her set tomorrow afternoon," Veronica said, returning her attention to the workbench and pulling down the goggles.

It had been Willy's stroke of genius to have her advertise more detailed pieced in the more illustrious fashion magazines such as Harpers Bazaar and Vogue. She offered hand-crafted pieces on commission similar to what Jewelry designers were advertizing – and then donated most of the costs to her favorite charities. This work was exclusively hers and it was her business that received the acclaim rather than perpetually being linked to Wonka Inc. The attention brought to her work was staggering and she enjoyed the quiet challenge for now.

"Groovy. I'll watch and tell you about the Y! report while you work," Willy said. He hopped up on a counter top and grabbed a handful of the modeling clay she used to do a mock-up of the jewelry before actually creating it out of sugar. Playing with it absently, he relayed the news beginning with the serious reports and moving on to the fluff.

As she bent over her work, she listened to Willy's summary – complete with voices and commentary. It was difficult going since she had to pull away frequently, giggling at his antics.

"Oh! Mah! Gawd! It was, like, so grody! Like, it tastes like poo, n' stuff!" Willy simpered, fluttering his hands and doing a blistering valley girl accent as he imitated the taste testers of the other products.

She set the torch down with a thump, fumbling it off as Veronica cracked up. "S…stop! Please!" she begged as she snickered, her knees gave out as she let loose with full-body laughter. Willy started to laugh too as he saw her collapse. That got her laughing even harder and her face flushed a bright red as she attempted to breath in between giggles. Willy started guffawing even harder as he heard the weird little squeaks she made as she gasped for breath.

Sighing deeply, she pushed the goggles up and wiped her eyes of tears. Her sides really hurt and she was light headed from lack of oxygen.

"And that completes the evening news. Good night, good luck and good riddance," he said.

"Good thing. I think I almost split something there," she said breathlessly, climbing back to her feet to survey her work with a critical eye.

Willy watched fondly as she moved around the piece, sniffing, prodding delicately and muttering under her breath.

"Hmm….bonding is holding…little thin on the backing, but nothing I can do about that now, just a lesson learned for next time…a little rough on the flashing. I can file that down tomorrow," she commented, scribbling on a small notepad next to the wooden board that held a recreation Celtic torc and matching button earrings.

She gave the piece a hard look before nodding and setting the pen down. She unplugged the waiting soldering iron, flipped off the heat lamp and ensured the cook top was cool to the touch (well, hers anyway) before turning to Willy expectantly, "Done. Dinner with the Buckets?"

"Not tonight – I've got something else in mind." The Chocolatier said, a mysterious smile creasing his lips.

Veronica removed the goggles and the heavy leather apron, fluffing her hair and straightening the tee shirt and cargo pants she stubbornly persisted in wearing to L.A.'s dismay, "Being obtuse, eh? Is this something I need to get changed for or something I can go to as is?"

"Oh, as is, please. After all, it is such a special night…" Willy's face brightened into a teasing smirk.

Veronica froze at his words, "Special night? What's special about it?" _Crap…what was the date? Was there some holiday coming up…it isn't Valentine's day yet, is it?_

He simply held out a hand and she hesitantly took it and allowed herself to be led out of the workshop.

She still worked out of Willy's factory – paying him a token fee for space rental as she was too lazy to do any space hunting for an alternate location for her studio. Besides, it was much easier to get supplies and more protection from the paparazzi.

A quick trip by Wonkavator led to one of the cafeterias frequented by the Oompa Loompa workers. The space had been transformed.

Richly colored fabric interwoven with golden threads draped from the ceiling to spill down the sides of the walls, thick oriental rugs cushioned their feet. Carved sandalwood tables and large pillows replaced the typical sub-sized tables and chairs used by the workers at lunch. Black iron lamps punched out with geometric shapes created a hazard as the two tall people moved inside. A good sized crowd of off-duty workers were already there, seated in groups and chatting over large communal plates on the tables. Sitar music played in the background and the air was heavy with the scent of spices and incense.

Willy led Veronica to take a seat at one of the low tables. Brass cups were poured with what smelled like green tea and a few of the communal platters were placed on their tables along with a basket of flat oddly shaped bread.

"Surprise! Indian night - we do this occasionally. The tribe got interested in the idea when I told them about my trip to build Prince Pondicherry's palace."

Normally about inquisitive as a jellyfish about foreign food, she found the smells appetizing and the food mouth-watering. A bed of rice with peas, carrots, slivered almonds and raisins cradled smoky lumps of chicken rubbed with spices in a thick yogurt sauce. There was a smaller dish with what looked like a thick rice pudding for dessert and a bowl of shredded vegetables completed the meal.

Willy watched her dig in. She was mostly recovered from her exhaustion, but her lean body refused to put on weight. He had tempted her with sweet delights and savory feast, but she still picked at her food and looked too skinny to his worried eyes. Combined with the occasional nightmares, and the resulting nausea, she was still pale and had bruised circles under her eyes.

"Stop it. I'm not going to fall apart on you. Give it up," Veronica growled, seeing him look at her with that worried light in his violet eyes.

"Sorry. How'd you sleep last night?" he asked obliquely.

"The same," she said shortly. She nibbled a bit of the rice with her fingers before setting it down uninterested on her plate.

"Care to stay here tonight? It might help." He asked carefully. Willy had noticed that she slept better when he was there – he was such a light sleeper, her twitching when the nightmare began usually woke him long before she was lost to the terror and he could usually soothe her back into normal slumber without too much disruption of his own schedule.

Struggling with her own need for independence against the isolation and terror left behind by her dreams, she nodded once stiffly. It hurt her a lot to admit that she needed him to get some sleep, but it had in fact been three days without a full night's rest.

He relaxed at her admission, glad that there was something he could do to help her rest.

Things had gotten even worse after Veronica's trip down to the courthouse last week to testify against Jake Manning for torching her building. The paparazzi had found out about her name on the docket and she had to fight through the crowd just to get inside. Her testimony had lasted less than 10 minutes. Veronica had felt oddly lost and had decided to sit out the sentencing in the audience. Manning, still looking a bit raw and odd with his half-grown in hair had turned only once to look at her with oddly flat reptilian eyes before returning his attention to the lawyer speaking.

Still , that contact was enough to shake her and she quickly escaped out of the back entrance while the media swarmed the front, getting their interviews with the lawyers. A few photographers had come around to the back to get pictures of Manning being taken to prison, but she ducked behind the van and moved quickly to jump into the first cab that pulled up to go home.

She hadn't slept a full night since unless Willy was there.

"I got a letter today," Veronica said, wanting to change the topic from her problems, but knowing what she was about to bring up wasn't going to help things any.

"Um?" Willy replied around a mouth full of rice. He grabbed his cup to take a sip.

"It was from the District Attorney's office in Los Angeles. They want me to come there to testify against Victor next week."

Willy managed to spray his food over most of the plate in surprise.

Somehow she'd had a feeling that he would react like that.

"What? Why in California? What about what he's done here?" he asked in alarm, blotting at his face and chin with a hastily grabbed napkin.

"The Americans are apparently charging with racketeering and a variety of other crimes on. They won't tell me a whole lot since it might interfere with my testimony, but I got the feeling that he's in a lot more trouble than just harassing me," Veronica said levelly, watching the alarm mount on Willy's face.

"They want me to testify to a Grand Jury about what had happened to me and the strange events afterward."

"Is Cavenaugh going? What about his investigation?" Willy asked.

"He's going this week to give his testimony. They want me to arrive a couple of days before the court date to go over my story. I'd have to leave on Sunday night to get there," she said calmly, taking another bite of her chicken tika.

"But you're a British citizen, how can they subpoena you like that?" he asked in confusion.

"I'm not sure about the legal mumbo-jumbo, but it's more a request than a subpoena. I'd like to talk to your lawyer to get a bit of clarification on that, if I may?" she said, swallowing and reaching for her tea.

Willy stared at her. How could she be so calm? She was talking about going half-way around the globe to testify against a maniac with a vendetta against her.

"How do you feel about it?" he managed to get out around the dry block in his throat. His hands were shaking and he could feel dots of sweat break out across his brow. _There was no way he could go all the way to California with her..._

"I'm terrified," Veronica confessed, giving him a wan little smile. "But, if it's the only way to put him behind bars, then I'll do it."

"I don't think it's safe. Can't you testify from here? Video tape or conference call or…something?" he pleaded, fear making his voice rise in pitch.

"Cross examination. I need to be there, Willy. My question to you is, will you come with me?" she asked softly, placing one scarred hand over his gloved ones as he compulsively twisted the napkin in his lap.

Willy was honestly torn. He wanted to be there to support her…to see Victor's face as she spoke against him. But the fear that held him captive – that insisted that his world and his work would fall apart if he left his factory for more than a few hours – held him back.

Veronica saw the conflict raging across his face and pulled back her hand, "I'm sorry Willy. I shouldn't have asked. Forget it, please."

"No. It's alright. I…I just need some time to think about it," he said in a low voice. _The factory needed him...didn't it?_

"It was wrong of me to ask you. I'll go myself. It's alright Willy," she said, heart twisting. Her selfish need to have him by her side during the trial was causing him pain and she felt horribly guilty for having put him in that position.

_Knock it off_, she scolded herself. _The man isn't a teddy bear for you to hold when facing the dark. He's a full-grown man with responsibilities. You don't need him there to hold your hand. He's said he loves you and helped you when you were down - be content with that._

_But can I do it without him?_ She wondered.

_You'll have to – stand on your own two feet and fight your own battles you daft bint!_

"I'll ask Tupik-Ra to speak with you, maybe even come with you to California if you'd let me do that for you," Willy said in an absent voice. His eyes were blank and she could tell he was lost in his thoughts again.

"Thank you. I don't mean to put you out like this. I know I'm a burden on your generosity," Veronica heard herself say in a cool voice.

_Time to start breaking the bonds now, you can't count on anyone else to carry your burdens, my girl,_ she thought sadly. She knew this day had been coming, Veronica just wished there had been more time.

Willy looked startled and was opening his mouth to say something when a worker dressed in a black jumpsuit with his security team rushed in.

He spotted the two tallest people in the room and darted up to their table, panting.

"Smiley! What's going on?" Willy said in shock. Normally Smiley was the most unflappable of the Oompa Loompa warriors. Something big must be going down and he felt himself tense for action.

"Won-Ka. There was a call to Ver-Oni-Ka's apartment. It call-forwarded to us as usual," Smiley panted, exhausted from running the length of the factory. He grabbed Willy's cup and took a gulp unapologetically.

Willy nodded and gestured his impatience, "What? What already? You've got us worked up with this dramatic entrance and now you leave us hanging? Speak up!"

"Sorry. Ver-Oni-Ka, your brother and his partner are in the hospital at Charing Cross. They were attacked this afternoon outside their apartment and beaten quite badly," The Oompa Loompa warrior said, tears of sympathy in his eyes. "Spencer is in a coma and they need Reginald's medical information for a transfusion."

Veronica didn't say a word. She shot to her feet and bolted for the door of the cafeteria.

"Veronica!" Willy shouted, shooting to his feet to follow.

But she was already gone.


	48. Chapter 48

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Thanks to the Olympics, the media attention on the factory is starting to die down (that and the last three reporters who attempted to sneak in coming back stinking of bubble gum and rotten fish as a stomach-churning perfume). Tupik-Ra is somewhat disappointed since half the fun we were having consisted of a betting pool with various methods for getting in. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 48**

Veronica reached her apartment in record time, slamming open the door and grabbing her messenger bag, coat and making sure she had enough money for the cab before charging out again to head to the hospital.

As she opened the door to her building, she noticed a yellow envelope sitting on the stoop. She absently picked it up as she frantically waved a hand, trying to flag down a taxi on the busy street between the factory and her building. It took jumping up and down waving before one slow to a stop before her. Veronica threw herself inside.

"Charing Cross Emergency Room," she said shortly.

The man took one look at her pale face and turned to face her, "Here, you're Veronica Carmichael!"

"Very good – you see me. Please hurry, my family is hurt," Veronica snapped.

As the cab pulled away from the curb, the driver said, "Fancy having you in my cab. What's it like inside the factory? Is Mr. Wonka as strange as he seems?"

She ignored his questions to stare out the window, trying to keep the tears at bay. She sniffled once and the driver took the hint and fell into silence, coaxing a bit more speed out of the old cab.

_I hate this. I hate having to see Reggie and Spencer like this. I hate having to go it alone…_

Thinking back on Willy's stunned expression and his distant look of panic when she asked if he would go with her to the U.S., she sighed heavily. The feeling of hurt and abandonment just wouldn't leave her alone no matter what she did trying to be rational about it.

_Get used to the idea – Willy's a good friend, but he's got his own problems to deal with first._

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude. I'm just terribly worried," Veronica said, still staring out the window.

"S'alright love, You look a bit distressed and I'll leave you alone. It's just that I've dreamed about seeing inside that place my whole life – and to actually talk to someone who's been there..." The driver shot her a quick smile tinged with wistfulness

She turned her attention to the driver for a moment and offered a watery smile.

"It's magical. Take your wildest dreams and turn them free and that might encompass a fraction of what Mr. Wonka's managed to create. As for the man himself…," she returned her gaze out the window sadly.

How could she summarize such a bundle of contradictions that made up Willy Wonka?

"...He's magical too," Veronica whispered.

Her hand brushed up against the package in her lap as they whizzed through the tight confines of the city streets heading for the carriageway heading into London. Veronica glanced down, surprised. She'd honestly forgotten grabbing it in the first place.

She used one finger to ease under the flap and rip open the envelope, peering inside. There was a piece of white paper and a stack of a few photographs.

_Strange_.

Veronica's breath caught in her throat and her hand flew up to her mouth as she read the letter in rising shock.

"_Watch your back, bitch. You're next."_

Shaking, she set the letter down to look at the Polaroid pictures. Various shots of her entering and leaving her building, all hidden surveillance and candid shots. One was even of a hand reaching out, almost touching her as she passed unaware – emphasizing how close he had gotten without her notice.

The last two were of Reggie and Spencer as they walked outside their building, laughing at something and carrying bags of groceries.

They had the current date – about two hours ago.

Veronica must have made some sort of noise because the driver was peering into the mirror and asking, "Miss? You alright? Do I need to pull over?"

Terror warred with need. Someone was stalking her – someone who had just put the two closest people in the world to her in the hospital, probably following her right at that moment.

Should she head back to the factory and hide, letting Willy take care of it?

A dull anger grew at that thought.

_No, Reggie and Spence need me._

She shook her head, "No – please keep going."

_Someone is toying with me, and I don't think I like it very much_, she thought, growing anger and frustration forcing her mind into motion.

She studied the paper, ignoring the trembling in her hands. Plain bond computer paper, found anywhere, the printer was computer too – although she was no expert, she could tell the difference between a typewriter with its indentations on the back side of the page from a printer.

There were more hints in the pictures, things like angles, the tattoos on the man's hand as he reached out to touch her, the clothes he wore – all of this and more could be analyzed to figure out who was doing this.

Veronica carefully slid the paper and the pictures back into the envelope with the tip of one fingernail. She'd call Detective Cavenaugh from the hospital to turn this over. He had better resources and experts at his disposal to dissect the evidence.

She was through with running to Willy Wonka when things got rough.

Her heart ached with the choice. She wanted to run and hide, to stay safe in his sanctuary for the rest of her days, ignoring the trials and travails of the outside world. She felt safe with him and content in his arms. She loved the wacky Chocolatier with all her heart.

He was also a flawed human being with problems of his own. He'd let the fear dominate him into hiding away in his factory. That was a battle she'd gladly help him fight when the time was right, but it had to be on his own terms when he was ready – not because of her own selfish need to have him near when she got frightened.

She was on her own.

The hospital was up ahead, she could see some news vans already parked on the street and reporters gathering outside to carefully inspect everyone going in and coming out.

Veronica groaned at the sight, "Crap. How did they find out so quickly?"

"Trying to duck the press?" the driver asked, glancing into the mirror.

"Yes. My brother and his partner got attacked outside their apartment and were rushed here. I need to get inside…" she muttered.

She was startled when the driver thrust a watch cap and scarf through the window at her, "Here, put this on and stuff your bag under your shirt like you're pregnant – I'll drop you off as close as I can to the door and call for a wheelchair for a lady in labor."

Surprised at his gesture, she took the items. "Thank you! Why are you helping me?" she asked gratefully, stuffing the envelope in her bag, jamming it under her shirt to don the disguise.

"It's not fair you should be harassed like this when you're so worried about your brother. Anyone who Willy Wonka trusts enough to bring inside his factory is trustworthy enough for me," he said.

"What's your name?"

"Mike…Mike Lansborogh."

Veronica made a mental note to find a way to repay this kind man for his generosity. Such kind acts in a cruel world were more precious than gold.

"Mike, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your help," Veronica said with a smile, pulling on the watch cap and ensuring no hair stuck out. She handed the fare over to him with a hefty tip.

The cab pulled up to the hospital entrance on a circular drive with an ambulance marked "Emergency" in bright red letters. Mike pulled the cab up as close as he could get to the door, honking the horn urgently.

A few of the milling media watched with disinterest as he hopped out shouting, "Here! There's a lady in labor over here. Her water broke – she's gushing all over the cab."

A man in scrubs trotted out and brought a wheelchair, "Let's get her in this and we'll take a look at her inside."

The door opened, and she hesitantly emerged, holding her bag against her stomach awkwardly. "Ooh! Aw, God it hurts!" she moaned, not sure the appropriate level of screaming for someone in labor. Veronica snuck a peek at the waiting crowd of press – no one even blinked.

"Don't worry, love. We'll take care of you," the man in scrubs said calmly, helping her sit and flipping the footrest closed.

She waved to Mike as she was wheeled inside, "Thank you!"

The doors closed with no more than the usual amount of attention paid to someone coming into the ER.

Veronica was wheeled up to an admission desk and the large Indian nurse sitting behind the desk asked, "So what are you here about this evening?"

"My brother – Reginald Carmichael?" she asked, standing up and removing the hat.

"You're not preg…Ah, yes. I see, quite creative Ms. Carmichael," The nurse said, turning to her computer with a quick grin.

_I guess there is some benefit to fame_, Veronica thought.

She frowned at the information pulled up on the screen, "Your brother is currently in surgery. If you'll take a seat, I'll page the doctor to have someone come fill you in. In the mean time, could you fill out some paperwork for him?"

"What about Spencer Talbot? He's my brother's partner and I'm listed as his next-of-kin"

The nurse typed again and studied the screen with a careful blankness, "He's listed as critical. Ms. Carmichael, please have a seat and I'll get someone to come talk to you about both of them."

Having no other option, she turned to look for an empty chair in the crowded waiting room.

"Ms. Carmichael?" asked a familiar voice in the hallway behind her.

Veronica turned to see Detective Cavenaugh and two uniformed officers approach her.

"Detective - are you here about what happened to my brother?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. I managed to interview your brother before they wheeled him in for surgery," the gruff man said, indicating for her to follow her to an unoccupied treatment room.

"What happened? Do you know what's wrong with him?" she pleaded for more information.

"Three men jumped out of a white van and attacked your brother and Mr. Talbot. They left some crushed up candy at the scene before hopping back into the van and escaping. Mr. Carmichael managed to get a partial plate and we're running it – somehow I have a feeling that it'll come up as stolen though." Cavenaugh said, taking a seat wearily – he was still jet-lagged from his trip to the states. The dark circles under his eyes told Veronica that he was running close to empty.

"The candy…it was Berry Bling wasn't it?" she asked flatly, getting a sinking sensation in her stomach at the news.

"Yes. I'm guessing you know something," Cavenaugh said, pulling out his notebook and clicking his pen.

Instead of responding, she pulled out her bag and surrendered the envelope to the perpetually rumpled man, "This was on my doorstep as I left for the hospital. The pictures of me were taken this week as I went about my errands. The last two of Reggie and Spencer were taken a few hours ago."

Cavenaugh was silent as he studied the note and pictures.

"They were stupid enough to take the pictures – and this one of his hand…I'll send it over to forensics and we'll be able to use this to nail the bastards. Who else has seen this?" he said finally, returning the contents to the envelope.

"Just me. I opened it in the cab on the way over. Who's doing this?"

Cavenaugh was silent, lost in his thoughts and Veronica had to throttle her impulse to yell, scream and throw things around to get the answers to who was haunting her and harming her family.

"When are you heading to the states to testify?" he asked suddenly.

"I was thinking about leaving Sunday, why?"

"I just got back. The yanks left me with the impression that your old friend Brahm has more connections under the table than over. I'm wondering if this attack may have originated with him." Cavenaugh said absently.

Thinking back to her nightmares and the fact that Willy had confirmed that Victor had been present, Veronica shivered with visceral fear.

"When you head over, I think you should bring company to watch your back. You'll be heading in onto his home turf."

She nodded sharply, "I will. I also refuse to let that bastard scare me off."

"Good. I wish more people were like you, Ms. Carmichael, we'd put more criminals behind bars and hopefully keep them there. I'm sorry your brother and Mr. Talbot have been injured – I hope they pull through alright. Let me know immediately if you get anymore threats like this, Ms. Carmichael," Cavenaugh said, pulling himself to his feet and moving toward the door where the two officers waited.

"Good luck," she said.

"You too, Ms. Carmichael," said the detective, and then he was gone.

Veronica was left clutching the clipboard with the insurance paperwork for her brother and thinking hard in his wake.

--

It was past midnight now, and Veronica hadn't returned from the hospital yet. Willy wandered his factory waiting for her to return. She hadn't given him a second glance before hurtling out the door earlier and he was anxious for word of what had happened.

She had called only briefly a few hours earlier, relaying that Reggie was out of surgery due to a lacerated liver and was expected to make a full recovery. His arm was broken and a couple of black eyes and a broken nose rounded out his list of injuries.

Spencer was not faring so well.

He had been beaten into the pavement, his left cheekbone, eye socket and nose was broken and there was swelling in his brain, so he now rested in a medically induced coma to try and save his life. His hip had been broken in the initial rush when he had tried to kick one of the attackers and had his leg wrenched for his effort. Fighting only looked easy in the movies and these attackers had been professionals.

Veronica had told him that she was going to stay with Reggie until he came around. Her distant manner and cool polite tone had rankled, but Willy had restrained his temper and attributed it to stress.

Brow furrowed, he paced the long cat walks that hung above the packaging department, watching the identical boxes roll by to be loaded onto his trucks.

What had been bothering him the most was her reaction to asking him to come with her to California. When she asked, he had frozen at the thought, and he had watched her face fall. Willy couldn't stand to see Veronica disappointed. She wasn't asking for much – just a little support during a stressful time. Nothing unreasonable for a woman to ask of her lover.

_So what is really the problem here? Why am I reluctant to leave the factory to go to California?_

The cane made a hollow thump against the metal of the catwalk as he kept pacing.

"I'm not afraid to leave the factory – I've done so dozens of times. Why, I went after Charlie when he refused to accept the position as my heir initially. It's ridiculous to believe I'd exile myself in here for the rest of my life," he said as he walked, the fluorescent light overhead interspaced with pockets of darkness. Even he had to admit to himself that his voice wasn't convincing.

_So what bugs me about going to California?_

…_Leaving the safety of the factory and having it outside his range of retreat._

Since it had been closed, Willy had only left the factory for more than a day only once – when he traveled the world for more than two years shortly after the doors had closed to outsiders for the last time. Even then, it had been a persistent thought in his head. In his dreams, he had seen visions of his wonderful factory – calling to him, begging for him to return home and give it purpose.

When he had made the decision to look for an heir and found Charlie, the day when he actually turned over operations to the boy had always seemed far in the future – years from the present.

Now he really had to wonder.

_Was he really needed at all?_

Willy had to face a hard truth, Charlie was growing up and becoming more proficient by the day. Thanks to his careful training, the dark-haired teen was tending and caring for his beloved factory in a more than satisfactory way. It wasn't inconceivable for him to leave his apprentice in charge for a few days for an overseas excursion – it wasn't like he was disappearing off the face of the planet or anything.

"Okay – so I know things won't fall apart here if I go. So why do I feel like if I leave, it's the end of the world?" he asked himself, slamming the packaging room door and strolling back to his room, still lost in thought.

His workers, used to these moods from their employer, simply veered around him to continue in their work. The factory ran 24/7 and away from windows, it was nearly impossible to tell what time it was.

Willy found his mind wandering back to the condition of Reggie and Spencer. They had opened their home to him and offered him their support as he had made his honorable intentions toward Veronica clear. He found their open manner and unassuming attitude refreshing and discovered that he liked spending time in their company - quite a change from his normal reclusive behavior. To think that they had been so savagely hurt – it made him feel angry and helpless to offer them assistance after all they had done for him.

Wait a minute…

Willy froze as a sudden though hit him. A pallet pulled by a small motorized cart veered at the sudden stop, the sharp angle tipping the pallet, throwing bags of gobstoppers to the floor and splitting open with a horrendous clatter. Small gobstoppers rolled in every direction on the slick surface and the cries of other Oompa Loompas as they were tripped by the candy filled the air.

He was indifferent to the chaos around him, to the small bodies gathering the thousands of candy balls as they escaped. A solution had come to him…an elegant solution to help the couple that had brought he and Veronica together.

Willy broke out of his thoughts with a sudden grin.

It would work, it was a perfect solution and it could work!

He took a purposeful step, intending on heading down to the village to collect his special recipe notebooks from safe-keeping with Mi-Ka when his foot hit the gobstoppers. He was thrown high into the air and came down hard on his back, crushing several of the candies under the weight of his body and leaving spectacular bruises as he would discover later.

His head knocked hard against the floor and Willy saw stars for a long moment. When his sight cleared, five small faces stared down on him in concern.

"Ow…" he groaned attempting to sit up. The world swum sickeningly around him and he carefully moved one hand to test the large knot on the back of his skull.

"Won-Ka! Are you alright? Do we need to get Dev-On?" asked the deep voice area supervisor.

Willy sagged back as his stomach lurched and his sight started to grow dim once more. This wasn't the first time he'd been knocked out, as accidents did happen in his factory.

_But so exasperating when this happened to him!_

"Um…yeah. It might be a good…"

The blackness claimed him.


	49. Chapter 49

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. The quote from "South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut" belong to Matt Stone and Trey Parker. _

_Sometimes I forget the culture the Oompa Loompas come from. Tupik-Ra was asking me about American politics and the concepts behind the presidential election. After explaining campaigning and debates and the resulting smear campaigns against each other, he asked, 'Why don't they just have an actual fight to the finish? Anyone willing to draw and shed their personal blood for their ideals is a better leader than one who just talks about it." Now that is something I'd like to see – DeathMatch! McCain vs. Obama – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 49**

Willy came around a few minutes later. It was with some astonishment that he realized that his eyes were already open and he finally was registering what was going on around him. Several Oompa Loompas were gathered around him, varying expressions of worry and concern on their tiny faces.

Dev-On was shining a pen light into his eyes.

"Ow…stop that," Willy groaned, swatting at the painful light. His head ached, but the nausea was gone, so he braced himself to sit up slowly. He was still on the floor in the hallway.

"Careful now. You gave yourself a good goose egg on the back of your skull. We're going to have to keep an eye on you tonight," Dev-On said, lending his weight to help Willy sit upright.

Taking a few steadying breaths, he rubbed the back of his neck and tested the knot, "How long was I out?"

"A few minutes. I think you need to take it easy for the next couple of hours, Won-Ka," the healer said unconvincingly.

Dev-On sighed, why did he even bother saying it anymore? His employer had knocked himself out more times than he cared to count and was bouncing around within a few minutes of regaining consciousness.

Willy furrowed his brow, blinking rapidly – he was thinking about something important. He's just come to some conclusion when he slipped. Now what was it…?

"Did we get the gobstoppers cleaned up? Anyone else hurt?" he asked absently, pulling himself slowly to his feet and fumbling with his hat and cane. He placed the hat on, winced as it rested against the bump, and adjusted it to sit a bit lower on his forehead than normal to get it off the back of his throbbing skull.

"Just a few bumps and bruises. We've already got the mess cleaned up and provided bandages to whoever needed them, "Dev-On said cheerfully. He was glad to see Won-Ka back on his feet.

Bandages…?

…Spencer and Reggie!

Willy gasped as he remembered what he had figured out to help the two men.

"Doc! I need your help. Veronica's brother, Reggie, and his partner Spencer are in the hospital. I think they're going to need a little pick-me-up to help them out." He said intently, kneeling down to meet the eyes of the diminutive physician.

"What kind of injuries are we talking about?" Dev-on asked thoughtfully.

Willy relayed the information that Veronica had provided.

Dev-On tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I see where you're going, but the formula now won't work for those purposes."

"I know – I was getting ready to head down to collect my notes from Mic-Ka when I fell." Willy admitted.

"I'll head back to the lab and see what I can come up with, join me there and we'll see if we can come up with something to help those two," Dev-On said decisively.

"Groovy. Excuse me…gotta blast." Willy said as he stood and strode for the Wonkavator, suppressing the remaining dizziness and blinding headache that assaulted him with the movement. People were depending him even if they didn't know it yet.

And he'd do anything to help wipe the disappointment from Veronica's eyes.

--

It was dark.

The steady beeps and hiss of the machines were soothing to her ears in this quiet womb-like atmosphere that pervaded the room.

Veronica opened her eyes and sat up from where she slouched next to Spencer's bed to glance at the clock. It was 4 a.m. and there was no movement from the figures in the beds. The lights were off and only one dim lamp behind the bed provided any illumination.

Spencer's head had been shaved, bandages covering the incision the doctor's had made to relieve the swelling on his brain. His normally handsome features were bloated and swollen, more bandages covering the left side of his face where the doctors had pieced the shattered pieces of his cheek and eye socket back together. Tubes running into his nose and down his throat to breath for him covered what little unmarked skin was left. His right leg, encased in its thick plaster cast poked up awkwardly from under the blankets and was braced from a hanging sling

His limp hand was clasped weakly in hers and she stroked her thumb across his knuckles, trying not to jar the IV dripping nutrients and saline into his veins.

Reggie made a noise from the next bed and she used the rolling stool to scoot over to tend to him. Gently reaching up to stroke his matted hair, she made a soothing noise and he drifted back into sleep. He had awoken from surgery briefly, but his confusion and inability to grasp what she was telling him told her that he wasn't really "there." He had fallen asleep mid-sentence as he asked her for a third time where Spencer was. IVs snaked from his hand as well – the bag had been changed little less than an hour ago under Veronica's watchful eye.

Tears leaked out of her eyes at her feeling of overwhelming helplessness. The only thing she'd been able to do was insist that they get the same hospital room. Even that had been more a matter of chance than anything she had actually done.

She watched his battered face, eyes blackened, nose braced and taped and lips split and swollen, trying to see if he was trying to resurface to consciousness. But he just took a deep painful breath and fell into deeper sleep.

Veronica stood and stretched her tired muscles. Sitting in one place on such an emotional tightrope was burning her out. She was used to activity, movement – but sitting in limbo waiting for one or both of them to awaken was torturous. She decided to walk down the hall to the machine to get another cheap cup of bad coffee in a flimsy cup with yet another stupid hand of poker on it.

As she walked down the hall, she veered off into the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. She turned on the water and doused herself with several handfuls before looking at her reflection in the ghastly fluorescent lighting. Accusing eyes stared back.

_This is your fault. Reggie faces a long painful road to recovery and a possible life without Spencer because of you._

The emotional dam finally broke and suddenly furious, she screamed and violently threw the wad of paper towels at the white tile wall. Crying in frustration, rage and distress, she flung toilet paper, punched the paper towel dispenser and savagely kicked at the trash can – denting it satisfyingly before sliding down to crouch sobbing.

_Why Reggie and Spencer? Why hurt them?_ She begged of God in her mind. _Why wasn't Willy strong enough to stand by her side when she needed him the most? _

_What was it about her that invoked Marcus and now Victor to despise her so much that they had been driven to monstrous actions against her and those she loved?_

_It was so unfair!_

She indulged her emotional distress for a long time. Unlike her panic attacks that were mindless, reactionary fits, this was pure soul-blackening guilt that drove her.

By the time she subsided, her butt was numb, her throat sore and clogged and her eyes actually hurt with the amount of tears shed. Veronica sat back and sighed, she had reached a state of numbness.

Climbing back to her feet, she tidied the bathroom of her hissy fit with an air of embarrassment. She hurriedly turned the trash can so the dent faced the wall, it still listed to one side slightly, but she was hoping no one would attribute the damage to the noise she'd made.

_Thank God no one saw that. I was acting like a child. I'm too old for tantrums; I don't know what came over me._

Sniffling, she blew her nose and sneered at her reflection, not daring to meet her own eyes again. She exited the bathroom, glancing to see if anyone had heard her. No one had judging by the quiet halls and the low-level of noise coming from the nursing station.

Veronica collected the coffee from the machine. She fumbled with it for a moment, the thin paper not muting the scalding heat of the liquid in the slightest. Slurping a few centimeters to get the level down to something she could carry, she started back toward the ICU room.

Veronica saw the scrub clad figure slip into the room before her. She trotted up, anxious to be there while either one of them were examined to find out the progress.

She paused outside the room to watch the figure, head covered by a surgical cap, surgical gown covering dark pants and mask across his mouth take a hypodermic needle out of his pocket. Cold terror seized her at the sight.

This was wrong – way wrong.

The doctors who had approached her earlier only wore regular scrubs, why was this one masked? Neither Reggie nor Spencer was due for any more painkillers or injections – the nurse had just checked them less than an hour ago.

Whoever this was, he wasn't a real doctor!

Realizing there was no time to call for help before this person could harm Spencer or her brother in their weakened state, she stepped into the room.

"Hey!" she snapped. When the figure whirled toward her, she flung the scalding liquid into his face.

He screamed, dropping the needle onto the bed. Not giving herself the time to be frightened, she shoved as hard as she could. The man tripped over the rolling stool she'd been holding vigil on and crashed to the floor.

Veronica whirled and bolted to the door, taking a deep breath to scream for help.

"Veronica, wait!" cried the man.

She froze, _I know that voice_. The man's wide violet eyes regarded her in alarm.

"Willy?"

He pushed himself to an upright position on the floor and pulled down the surgical mask to confirm that, it was indeed him.

"Oh, dear God! I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" she said, helping Willy stand and take a seat on the stool that had incapacitated him.

She turned on one of the overhead lights to inspect the damage to the Chocolatier. Bright red splotches against his fair skin trailed down across one side of his forehead and neck, damp spots indicated where the coffee had landed.

"It's okay – nothing I haven't done to myself before," Willy said, grinning at the stricken expression on her face. "Just another lump for the collection. You know you're pretty handy with that stuff – was there a course of self-defense specializing in deadly use of hot invigorating beverages?"

"I thought you were someone trying to kill Reggie and Spencer," Veronica said defensively, handing him an over-bleached washcloth to clean himself up with.

"I'm not. Really! I just came by with something to help them heal a little faster."

Veronica's breath caught in her throat.

"Do you mean…?" she whispered, looking around suspiciously as if the walls had suddenly grown ears.

He nodded. Turning to pick up the syringe with latex-gloved hands.

"But you'll get caught! A miraculous recovery will just bring more questions…" she whispered to him frantically. Veronica was torn between wild hope and fear of discovery.

"Relax. I worked with Dev-On to develop a weaker version so that their recovery won't be quite as fast as yours, but still pretty darned quick," he said cheerfully, removing the cap and injecting the clear solution into Reggie's IV port. "Not to mention it will ensure they do recover," he said darkly, watching to ensure the precious fluid flowed in properly.

Wonkavite.

Willy pulled another syringe and did the same to Spencer's IV.

He re-capped the needles and returned them to the pocket of the surgical gown. No need to leave evidence of his visit after all.

Willy turned to see Veronica hugging herself, watching him apprehensively.

"There. By tomorrow morning, the Docs will come in and find that their injuries were not as extensive as they'd first thought. Reggie will be up and around in a few days. Spencer, once they knock off the drugs, will come out fit as a fiddle," he assured her.

Studying each other, they stood in silence for a moment before she moved toward him and he reflexively gathered her in his arms, taking comfort in a harsh situation from each other.

The tears that Veronica thought she had exhausted started slipping unheeded down her cheeks once again and she sniffled noisily into his shoulder.

"It's alright. I've got you. Let it out," Willy whispered gently, feeling her tremble with the repressed emotion.

"I already did in the bathroom, I think this is just fall out. Please, just hold me for a moment," She said tremulously, clutching him even tighter.

Willy wasn't about to let her go. He guided her back toward the rolling stool and took a seat, pulling her to sit comfortably on his lap while the tears streamed down her cheeks. He leaned his cheek against her soft hair and simply rocked, lulling himself with her warm weight and the gentle smell that followed her.

He wiped the tears from her cheeks with a soft thumb and she caught his hand with hers, regarding the limb with wry humor.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Only you would manage to find the one place where wearing latex gloves is the norm," Veronica said, her eyes still red from crying, but her expression clearing.

He snorted and kissed the top of her head, "Mine are much more fashionable."

Willy turned his attention to the two incapacitated men. They looked so still and lifeless with their drab white hospital gowns and pale faces. Their vivid personalities had made them so much larger than life that when unconscious he was startled to discover how small they seemed.

"I'm so sorry this happened," he said softly to them.

"Me too. I'm glad you came though," she replied. "I feel better knowing you're here with me."

"Nothing would have kept me away voluntarily," he said, wincing as he thought of his injury. She didn't need to know about that.

There was a knock on the door, but before they could react, a nurse walked in. She stopped cold at the sight of the two of them in an embrace on the stool regarding her with equal shock.

"Visiting hour are from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir." She said briskly.

"He's family," Veronica said, shooting a warning look at Willy as he started to let her go to stand.

The nurse raised an eyebrow, "Really? Why is he wearing a surgical gear?"

"I don't want to contaminate anything? I heard that 85 percent of hospital infections are transferred in the first 48 hours, so I'm taking precautions," Willy offered quickly.

The nurse snorted, but held her tongue while she took the readings from the unconscious Spencer and sleeping Reggie.

She noted the numbers on her clipboard before returning her dour stare at the couple, "Listen here, Mr. Wonka. You may take me for an idiot, but I'm not. I'll let you pass as a family member for now, but don't try to pull my leg or steal hospital equipment. Understand?"

Intimidated by her demeanor, Willy saluted, 'Yes, Ma'am!"

The nurse sniffed, satisfied that her warning had been received, "Besides, that disguise fools no one."

She turned her attention to Veronica, still perched in Willy's lap, "And you…I told you hours ago to go home and get some rest. We'll notify you if there's a significant change in their conditions. You'll do no one any good if you don't take care of yourself first."

Veronica found herself cowed by the authority in the nurse's voice and nodded.

The nurse nodded in satisfaction and left the room, firmly closing the door behind her.

"Thank you Nurse Ratchett," came a weak voice.

"Reggie!" Veronica gasped, throwing herself off Willy's lap to her brother's bed.

Reggie was awake – his swollen eyes looked blearily up at them.

"Good God, were you my doctor?" he asked looking at Willy confused by the surgical gear.

"Yes. I'm sorry Kenny, but we had to replace your heart with a baked potato," Willy said in a mournful voice.

Veronica grinned while Reggie chuckled painfully, "I never should have lent you that movie."

"Don't make him laugh, it hurts," Veronica admonished Willy.

"Where's Spencer? What's going on?" Reggie asked painfully.

"Spencer's in the next bed. He's being kept under to let himself heal a bit," she said tactfully.

Reggie tried to lean up to see for himself, but cried out at the movement.

Willy pressed him back with a gentle hand, "Ease up there, Cowboy. You've been through surgery yourself and shouldn't be jumping around too much or you'll shake something loose."

Reggie gasped a bit and closed his eyes. He was so silent that Veronica thought he'd fallen back asleep again, so she jumped when he spoke, "Did you talk to Cavenaugh yet? Did he say anything about the attack?"

"Just that they were looking into the matter. Reggie, you need to rest. You're safe here." She said quickly.

Reggie sighed, "This sucks."

Then he fell back asleep.

Veronica kissed him gently on the head before turning off the light, plunging the room back into the comforting darkness.

"Let me take you home. You're exhausted and stressed. Spencer probably won't wake until morning anyway and you'll be here bright and early," Willy said, draping one arm across her shoulders to nudge her toward the door.

She paused, giving the injured men one more look before nodding. Reggie had been a lot more aware of his surroundings this time around and she sensed that what she told him had actually been adsorbed. They left the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

Willy paused outside a door marked 'storage' and removed the cap and started untying the surgical gown.

"C…can I still stay with you at the factory?" she asked in a small voice, hating herself for even asking_. _

_So much for Ms. Independent_, she sneered angrily at herself.

"Of course," Willy said graciously, removing the gown and depositing it in the appropriate container. He opened the door and collected his coat, hat and cane concealed among the stacks of sheets, gowns and towels. He pulled them on, smiling slightly, "You need the sleep and I want to be there to ensure that you get it."

Troubled at the thought of not being able to go about a normal task like sleeping without his help, she frowned.

"What's the matter?" he asked, tilting his head curiously at her expression.

Too exhausted and mentally beat to explain her irrational feelings, she sighed and pushed her growing need for autonomy aside for the greater need of sleep and emotional comfort for the moment.

"Nothing I can talk about rationally right now. Ask me again tomorrow," she said tiredly.

Willy nodded, his violet eyes concerned. She was growing distant, and he couldn't understand why. He was consumed with the need to take care of her, to banish her worries and cares, to finally see her care-free and happy. But she seemed to be slipping further and further away.

_Believe me_, he thought, _I will be asking_.

Tomorrow.


	50. Chapter 50

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Massive thanks go out to Yva for her hard work and straight shooting. It was her reminder that Britain isn't on the Euro that tells me that readers are out there and they do care. In either case, in this particular world that is lucky enough to have Willy Wonka – Britain IS on the Euro (beat that retro-con, Hollywood!) – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 50**

The fire was burning low casting long black shadows over Willy's bedroom. It cast ruddy shadows under the lone figure in the bed, limbs cast akimbo in the soft white expanse of the large bed.

Willy sat watching Veronica sleep.

The exhausted circles under her eyes weren't apparent from this angle, but the sharp planes of her shoulder blades under the thin skin were. The warm hue of her skin glowed in the soft dim light, the flames brightening the red tones of her hair – making her look like flames brought to life. The bare length of her back heaved with slow even breaths.

He had woken after a few short hours of sleep as was his usual sleep cycle when something was on his mind. For the first time in years it wasn't something he could go down to the Invention Room and tackle. He hadn't felt anything like this since shortly after meeting a short skinny dark-haired by named Charlie Bucket.

Veronica's distant attitude was puzzling and frustrating him.

Willy was honest enough to admit to himself that his strengths did not lay in the direction of people skills. Just keeping track of what was going on in the confines of his own skull half the time was a daunting enough proposition much less the barely restrained madness that was other people.

He leaned back and crossed his arms, still clad in his pajamas, legs draped over the arm of his chair as he sat sideways across the seat. A glance at the clock told him that it was pretty close to dawn.

Willy reflected on his emotional state. He felt fairly confident what he was experiencing was indeed frustration and puzzlement – as it was similar to what he felt when facing a new creation that just refused to work right. It was only when applying these feelings to living, breathing people that things started to get complicated. His little brush with anger was proof enough of that.

He had to smirk to himself with a shudder of remembered delight – once his guilt over his anger had been discovered, she had been quick to correct the misperception.

Sherman had told him that feelings were things best shared – but how was he supposed to share when he wasn't sure what the heck he was feeling in the first place?

Veronica made a slight noise and turned over. One long leg broke free from the soft white sheets and lay exposed to the light. Willy stared at her exposed limb for a moment, waiting to see if she would awaken. He watched one slender arm make a cautious exploration of the surrounding area, feeling for his presence. An inquisitive noise emerged and heavy hazel eyes crept open.

Willy allowed himself to enjoy the sight of her, tousled and warm from sleep as she slowly came awake and found him sitting in the chair before the fireplace.

"Willy? What's wrong?" Veronica asked thickly, holding the sheet to her chest and sitting upright.

"Nothing's wrong. Just couldn't sleep," he shrugged.

"Want to talk about it?" she coughed, leaning over to grab the glass of water on his nightstand and taking sip.

"If you're of the mind. I got the impression last night you were going to bolt back over to the hospital as soon as you regained consciousness," Willy said, giving her a significant glance.

She shook her head, standing and pulling on her sleep shirt that never seemed to last more than five minutes after climbing into bed with him. She came to sit across from him in the other seat, the firelight making her tired eyes gleam amber, "There's nothing I can do there right now. I get the feeling something's on your mind, what's up?"

He tilted his head at her, "I might ask the same thing. Ever since you mentioned your trip to California, I'm getting the impression that I'm in the dog house for some reason."

Willy watched as her expression shuttered, _Ah-ha_.

"Nothing. I'm not upset with you," she said.

_Liar_, hissed Bob.

Where have you been? Willy asked his sub-conscious surprised at the reappearance.

_I've been here – but you've been doing so well up to this point_. Bob explained helpfully. _You need my help figuring out what's going on in that pretty little head of hers._

"So, you're saying that you are not upset with me. Hmmm… If you're not upset with me, who are you upset at?" Willy asked. He could feel Bob's predatory interest lurking behind his eyes.

She crossed her legs and arms, shrinking in on herself as he watched. Everything in her manner was screaming, DROP IT.

"We promised each other that we'd talk about what was bothering us, Veronica," he said gently.

Veronica realized what she had done and sighed in frustration, running a nervous hand through her wild locks.

"Fine. I'm angry at myself – have been since I asked you to come to California with me. It was wrong of me and I apologize."

_That's not all_, Bob mentioned. _There's something else there. Keep prodding_.

"So, you're mad at yourself because you asked me, your boyfriend, to come with you to California while you testified in court against a man who has harassed, humiliated and threatened you?" Willy asked in a neutral voice.

There was a fluttering in the pit of his stomach – his irritation felt like it was growing.

What was she taking him for? He asked himself in disbelief. Did she seriously think he was ditching her when trouble brewed?

_Put yourself in her shoes,_ Bob advised. _You've given her a job, money, a place to live and you're her lover. What was she doing before all of this? How was she managing to survive?_

Veronica was fidgeting, plucking at her growing hangnails in agitation, "Yes…No… You know when you put it that way, things don't sound so bad. But that's not…" she fell silent, sighing heavily in irritation.

_She was scraping by, trying to live her life on her own terms, trying not to be a burden on Reggie or Spencer. She's cut off from her parents, blacklisted from her profession by a vindictive former employer,_ Bob said. _In a word, independent_.

"Are you feeling guilty because you asked me to come with you?" Willy asked, rapidly thinking on what Bob was bringing up.

"Yes," Veronica whispered. She dropped her hands to rest on the armrest and gazed back at him with sad eyes. "You've given me so much, and I've returned with nothing but more trouble. I should be able to do this without dragging you away from here like a child with her security blanket."

"Do you really think that our relationship is that one-sided?" he asked with mild sarcasm. "Can you honestly believe that I'm getting nothing but a physical release and some feel-good altruism out of being with you?"

"As a matter of fact – that is what I think," she responded coolly, anger sparking in her eyes. "You've been caged up in here for years and I'm the first unmarried woman to cross your path. I don't think you realize how ridiculously good-looking you are and how many attractive women who would love to be with you…women who are much better for you than I am.

His irritation evaporated like water off a hot skillet as he realized what she was saying.

"Good grief," Willy shook his head in disbelief. He swung his legs to sit facing her and leaned forward, pinning her with his eyes.

"I may come off as a feather-head, but I'm not as bird-brained as that. Do you know the reason why I never bothered pursuing anyone else? Because I was looking for someone a little deeper. Someone who looked beyond my fame and fortune to see the real me – the man sitting in front of you."

"I've been waiting all these years for you Veronica."

Willy saw the tears starting to form in her eyes, the denial she clung to so desperately.

"I want someone who shares my interest. Someone who is bright enough to contribute her own ideas rather than a knock-off of one of mine and the determination to see them through. I wanted someone who was more interested in making the world a better place rather than what material goods she could buy."

He leaned across to pull her into his lap as the tears streamed from her eyes and he met that bright gaze with his own – sincerity pouring out with every word.

"I love you because you are the bravest woman I've ever met. You face these things that obviously terrify you beyond the means for rational thought and still press forward because it's the right thing to do. You make me face my own failings and strive to be a better person."

He wiped the tears from Veronica's face with a gentle thumb.

"I love you, Veronica Carmichael, because even after everything that Victor has done to you, the only thing you're interested in is justice – not retribution. You have a kind, wonderful soul that I am perpetually thankful to ever have met."

Willy kissed her lightly on the lips, "And you really think the only reason I'm interested in you is as a charity case?"

--

Veronica was shaken with the magnitude of his words and the intensity of the conflict raging inside her. Willy was pouring his heart out to her and she felt shame for having underestimated the depth of this wonderful man.

"Well, I feel about three inches tall," she said softly, reaching up to stroke her cheek and smiling at the rough texture of the stubble across his jaw. Yet another facet that he shared with her alone – no one else would see Willy Wonka disheveled like this.

"I'm sorry Willy – I don't mean to minimize you like this. I'm just struggling with my belief that a woman needs to be able to stand on her own and face her own trials without hiding behind someone – the whole 'Snow White' or 'Cinderella' complex," she admitted, hoping he could understand what she was talking about.

God it was difficult to get ideas and feelings outside her own head at times.

He chuckled and caught her hand, "I, my dear," placing a kiss in the palm before returning it to her lap. "Am no Prince Charming – you couldn't pay me enough to wear the tights. I'm not even going to mention the puffy-sleeved doublets, although the hair is about right…"

He looked at her, eyes serious and intent, "I know what you mean. I also respect you and your fight enough to take a step back and let you fight your own battles. However, I hope you will let me be by your side to support you when you ask for help."

"Can you promise to actually wait for me to ask, rather than jumping headlong into the fray?" Veronica asked, studying his bright violet eyes for any evasion. "I don't want you to make a bigger target out of yourself than necessary because you didn't look before leaping."

Willy opened his mouth to respond, but hesitated for a moment, "How about this instead, as long as your immediate life or limb is not in danger – I promise to wait for you to ask before offering aid. There – that should fit the bill. It also nicely encompasses my personal promise to always have your back."

She smiled at him, feeling a bit of her burden slip from her shoulders, "Alright. I appreciate what you've done for Reggie and Spencer – although I don't think we should tell them about the Wonkavite. The fewer people who know about that stuff, the better."

She hugged him, letting her smile slip slightly as she remembered Cavenaugh's words.

"_The yanks left me with the impression that your old friend Brahm has more connections under the table than over. I'm wondering if this attack may have originated with him – watch your back…"_

Veronica was more determined than ever to protect those she loved.

"Willy. I think I would feel better if you would stay behind to keep an eye on the boys while I was gone," she said slowly. "Since we don't know who attacked them or if they'll strike again…"

He nodded, "Alright. It's just a day or two right? Not really enough time to get into serious trouble."

She cuddled close, breathing in his scent and making sure her face was concealed in his hair and her body remained loose and relaxed. He could not know about the danger – for all their sakes.

"Just a few days. I'll head out Sunday night and come back on Thursday morning," Veronica said lightly once she was sure her expression was under control. "I'm booking flights on the Concord – I've always wanted to arrive four hours before I left."

Dawn was breaking – the skylight over their heads was starting to gleam with rich color. Willy hugged her close and whispered, "Thank you for talking to me. I was having a hard time coming to terms with being annoyed for leaving me in the dark. I have to wonder if I'll ever get the hang of this relationship thing."

Guilt surged again and Veronica ruthlessly squashed it – it was for his own good.

She nodded, "Maybe that's what you should work on next – telepathy candy. You can read the mind of anyone else eating the candy in a 3 meter radius. Just think of what it can do for marital counseling."

"Or what it would do for the Divorce Industry," He mentioned. Her off-hand comment had sparked an idea of his own.

_Save it for later_, Bob purred, _You've got other thing to take care of right now…_

Willy leaned in to collect a kiss, this one longer and deeper than any since she awoke; his libido had just realized that a beautiful scantily clad woman was sitting in his lap and that this situation needed to be explored further.

His hand trailed up the long smooth length of her legs as he grinned up at her, "I'm glad I've managed to convince you of my sincerity. I didn't even get a chance to laud your many other qualities that I've fallen in love with."

Playfully running her fingers through his thick hair, she softly scratched at his scalp making his eyes roll back in pleasure, "Oh really? What might those be?"

He kissed her deeply, running his hand up the length of her throat to cup her head. When Willy finally broke away, she was breathless and heavy-lidded with pleasure.

"Let me show you…"

--

Victor hung up the phone as gently as he could. He leaned forward on against the counter of his Malibu condominium head sunk between his shoulders – taking slow deep breaths.

_Fuck it_.

He grabbed the phone and threw it across the room to slam into the stainless steel refrigerator and shattering into little pieces.

"Son of a bitch!" he screamed to the world at large. His voice echoed off the spacious room hollowly.

They were closing in on him. His fucking spineless lawyer brother-in-law was about as useless as a shit-flavored lollipop and word was leaking out that he was about to be indicted.

Miss O had just informed him that any future appearances on her popular daytime talk show were cancelled.

_Another bridge burned_.

He had two days before he was commanded to appear in court to face the charges.

Racketeering, Blackmail…the usual suspects of good business practices.

At least his buddies in the old neighborhood had come through for him. He'd gotten the word about the attack on those two queers of Veronica's and he took a small amount of pleasure from that. But it faded as he learned that she was coming out to testify against him in grand jury.

_Great, she was finally coming to play in his neighborhood and he was currently unable to do anything about it._

The frustration made him kick the breakfast bar stool across the room and punch the glass door of one of the upper cabinets. As glass tinkled down, he stared at his bloodied fist in surprise, the sudden pain bringing him back to reason.

_Okay – enough of that shit, put your brain in gear and quit bitching_.

Ignoring the mess since his maid Rosalinda would be in tomorrow morning, he padded into the sleek modern bathroom to pull out the tweezers, hydrogen peroxide, medical supplies and the bandages. Sitting on the toilet, he went to work to start the tedious process of patching himself up. The pain did a marvelous job of focusing his mind.

_Okay, so the Cops were closing in. Ronnie the bitch was the main testimony – the most vocal. So remove her from the equation and the rest of the case should crumble. Folks had learned their lesson about fucking with me,_ Victor thought.

Only problem was, cooperation from his friends took a little cash that he didn't have at the moment. Victor grimaced. He had maxed out his cards, leveraged the condo and had outstanding debts on all the catering businesses using one to pay off the other resulting in a huge mess that his accountant, Herb was also being paid to keep under the rug. _Christ – the things I have to do…._

Victor's stomach turned as he yanked a particularly large chunk of glass out from in between his knuckles. _Speaking of stomach turning_, he'd caught flipped through some of the magazines in Herbie's office the other day and caught site of the advertisements for Carmichael Enterprises hand-crafted simulation jewelry. Bad enough she sucks up to Wonka to make Berry Blings, but she was making cash free and clear with her own business with the fake gems as well.

_If I can't have Wonka, then she won't either_, he vowed, clenching his hand to ensure no more shards were present before dousing the whole thing with peroxide. He whimpered while the whole mess bubbled and frothed. _I don't care if I do the time, I'll make sure the bitch goes down with me_.

He heard the phone ring in the other room, but ignored it for the moment, blotting carefully at the wound before smearing it with Neosporin before bandaging his hand with a roll of gauze. He chucked the towel in the trashcan and took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

"I could always head back to the old neighborhood," Victor said to himself softly. _Papa Giadino always liked his mini-calzones._

He snorted, not a chance in hell. No way was he running back home to Mama with his tail tucked in between his legs.

Sighing, he stood and went to retrieve the handset from his bedroom to see who the hell was harassing him now. _If it was the damn D.A.'s office again…._Victor hit the button to listen to the message.

"_Mr. Brahm? This is Raul Slinkard with Slugworth Candies. We hear that you're going through a difficult time and wish to offer our support as a result of this unfortunate run in with Veronica Carmichael of Carmichael and Wonka. _

_If you choose to allow us to be your allies yourself against the erroneous charges and provide your own input against Willy Wonka and Veronica Carmichael, __I believe we may come to a mutually satisfying resolution of this issue. Perhaps we may even consider a similar working relationship depending on any ideas you with to propose. I look forward to hearing back from you_."

Victor began to grin. If wolverines would have had human expressions, they would have recognized their kindred in Victor

Looks like things were looking up.


	51. Chapter 51

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Inspiration struck on this chapter - so who am I to argue? Shout out goes to Tozi for the kind words - welcome to the story! – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 51**

The plane landed on the steaming Los Angeles tarmac little after 7 a.m.

Veronica collected her coat and bag and stepped out of the plane feeling more than a little disoriented. She'd been traveling since 8 a.m. London time and it messed with her head to realize that what felt like mid-afternoon was still early morning to everyone else.

_I need coffee before I ponder the realities of time travel_, she thought wearily hefting the ever present messenger bag across her body.

After hitting the restroom to empty about 12 of coffee out of her system and grimace at the reflection in the mirror after traveling, she staggered out of the terminal to face the prospect of trying to get to the hotel the District Attorney was supposed to meet her at.

_I love how they insist that I come out here to testify, tell me where to stay for "security" reasons then forget to have someone meet me at the airport_, she grumbled, fighting the little rolling suitcase's desire to tip over as she walked.

There was a long line of taxis waiting outside the huge glass windows and she pondered taking a cab or waiting around for her point of contact to finally show up. She felt exposed, like thousands of eyes on the target on her back. It was hard to balance her paranoia about Victor coming after her with the sheer frustration that was traveling. She wasn't sure who to trust or who to avoid out here.

L.A. and Tupik-Ra were supposed to meet her at the hotel since they were traveling separately. The Oompa Loompa lawyer's small size made it difficult to travel and packing him in a suitcase was inhumane.

No matter how many lawyer jokes had floated through her head when L.A. mentioned it.

She spotted a young man in a dark blue business suit and plaid tie trotting toward her, closing his cell phone, "Ms. Carmichael?"

"Depends on who's asking?" she said distantly, quickly locating various means of escape if this was someone after her.

"Billy Wright, L.A. DA office. Sorry, I got held up in traffic, I tried calling your cell phone…" he started, brushing some of his highlighted brown hair out of his eyes.

"I don't have a cell phone," Veronica said flatly, backing up a step or two to give her room to swing in case he made a grab for her. Her previous exhaustion faded with the fresh surge of adrenaline. "May I please see some identification?"

The man looked embarrassed, "Oops. Sorry." He flipped open his wallet and showed her his California driver's license. The pictures matched and in the wallet was a business card from the DA's office.

"I called the number that Jack gave me," Billy was explaining. Jack Sinclair was the lawyer from the office that had contacted Veronica initially. Her fears faded slightly, but there was still a hefty amount of skepticism.

"That was my home phone number in Britain. May I borrow your phone to check your credentials?" she said, plucking the phone from his hand without waiting for his response.

Veronica punched in the number from the DA's office from memory – only hesitating as she mentally removed the country and area code from her dialing. This would be a local call after all if his claims panned out.

"Billy – you better have not screwed this up," growled the flat American accent from the other line after barely a ring. The voice sounded familiar, like the one she'd been speaking with during long preparatory sessions over the past two days before coming out here.

"Jack? It's me. Did you send this young man to pick me up?" Veronica asked, watching Billy's face carefully.

"Veronica? Yeah, I did. Is that why you're calling from his phone?" Jack asked, surprised.

"Indeed. I just wanted to confirm his identity and to let you know that I have arrived safely," she said, giving the young man a nod and a smile.

Billy's face relaxed and he returned the smile.

"We're gathering at the Hotel at 9 a.m. Your friends have already arrived, although I'm sorry to hear about Mr. Tupik's ear infection. Poor guy was staggering all over the place," Jack chuckled.

Veronica chuckled with him, but not for the same reasons. Tupik-Ra had been reluctant to take some of the stretching Taffy that Willy provided all his workers who were going beyond the gates of his factory. L.A. had assured him that she would help him adjust to the new height and proportions, but apparently the lawyer had put off the change until the last second and wasn't used to being taller yet.

"Well then, I'll return the phone to Mr. Wright and we'll be on our way," she handed the phone to Billy and he listened for a moment before clicking it shut.

"Let's hit the road then, since traffic is a nightmare. No need to make you a bigger target than you are right now," he said briskly, trying for a more professional mien and failing miserably.

They exited the Airport to jump into the small grey car that was illegally parked outside the terminal entrance. The terminal police had placed a ticket on the windshield and were watching the car with a careful eye. Billy waved to the cop and veered off into traffic.

"Damn it! That's the third one this month!" he grumbled, dropping the flimsy yellow sheet into the backseat.

Veronica allowed herself to relax for the moment. Mentally, she reviewed the list of people to call once she hit the hotel to let them know she'd arrived alright.

Willy was first. His mournful violet eyes and blank expression as she had pulled away in her cab that morning from her apartment was heart-breaking. His tender affection and obvious love for her made it incredibly difficult to maintain her light-hearted façade for the upcoming trip.

Their last night together before they had parted was her most treasured memory...

--

Willy had arrived at her apartment to find her humming over a sizzling stove. Music blared over the speakers as she danced around the kitchen, preparing the simple dinner for them. He quietly removed his key from the lock, placed his hat on the table by the door and his cane into the umbrella stand to watch her dance for a few minutes, a wry smile on his lips and a soft look in his eye before deciding to surprise her. He had managed to slip up behind her and clasped his hands over her eyes.

Veronica shrieked and whirled to pelt him with the wooden spoon.

Willy cried out in surprise and staggered back, "Ow! Hey!"

"Oh my God! Willy!" she cried, eyes wide with alarm. She grabbed her dishtowel to dab at the red sauce from his face and head.

"I'm so sorry…wait a minute," she frowned, throwing the towel at him. "No, I'm not sorry. You should have learned your lesson about sneaking up on me by now."

She'd been strangely on edge since the attack on Reggie and Spencer, Willy pondered. Probably a good thing since he'd heard no word about who was responsible.

"Geez! I'm the sorry one. You're right – I solemnly swear not to ever sneak up on sexy women cooking me dinner ever again," Willy said, raising one hand. He noticed that the offending glove had what looked like tomato sauce on it and had to take a taste.

Veronica had to smile at the Chocolatier. His brow was furrowed, mouth parted to allow his flickering tongue to delicately sample her efforts. She had to quell a surge of desire as she watched that pink flickering muscle and remembered what it had felt like upon her.

He stood straight, smacking his lips for a moment before smiling brightly, "Mmm! Taste great. The garlic and the wine go good together – and do I detect a bit of my Super Select Ultra-Dark Chocolate in there as well?"

"Indeed you do – I like the touch of bitterness that complements the sweetness of the tomatoes," she said, cracking the oven to peer inside. The delectable smell of roast chicken and herbs filled the kitchen.

Willy tried to peek over her shoulder, but she slammed the door shut and turned to glare, "My surprise. Shoo!"

He shamelessly collected a long kiss, his arm stealing around her slender waist. She had to agree that the sauce tasted good as she allowed his tongue to plunder her willing mouth – even better when he was the platter it was served on.

"Keep that up Mister and we go to bed hungry," Veronica said breathlessly as they parted.

"As long as we go to bed," Willy was close enough she could feel his breath puff on her swollen lips when he replied.

One thing had led to another and she had blindly shut off the stove and the cook top as Willy snogged her senseless. Their frantic explorations led to yet another new room being consummated.

As they lay panting on the wooden floor in the kitchen, Veronica mused, "We're going to need a lot of bleach before we eat off that table tonight."

"Although, I kind of like having that kind of reminder when we eat there," Willy said, waggling his eyebrows. "Gives 'eating' a new definition."

"Enough of that," she scolded, a bright blush rushing up her face.

"Yes, Ma'am," he chuckled, holding her close.

The sun was setting low in the sky and a warm yellow light filled the space, the golden glow of the oak floor warming the kitchen and its inhabitants. Shadows were growing deeper as the sunlight dimmed and she reveled in sensation of resting quietly in his strong arms.

This was a perfect moment, she realized suddenly. One of the few moments in life that summarizes everything where all was in perfect focus and clarity. Veronica did her best to remember every detail – the grain of the wood under their bodies, the way the rays of sunlight streamed through the window to the darkening apartment, the smell of tomato sauce and Willy's body where it rested under her cheek.

"Veronica?" Willy rumbled under her cheek.

"Yes?"

"When you get back from L.A. and get Victor taken care of…"

She sat up to look at him. He was regarding her – his face showing every flicker of emotion. Doubt, love, fear and hope warred across his features. He struggled with his words, uncommonly clumsy in this emotional nudity.

"W..w..Will…" he stuttered. Willy pushed himself to sit upright, cupping her face in his soft hands and gazing into her eyes.

"Will you marry me?"

Breath froze in her lungs, her heart stopped in her chest all sound leeched away as time and the universe stood still.

Her perfect moment now only included one thing – Willy Wonka.

The love she felt for him was like standing in the heart of a supernova – blinding, cleansing and reborn.

His violet eyes were pleading, the infinite amount of his love and hope shining through raised tears in her eyes as she struggled to breath, to move.

"Oh, Willy," Veronica breathed, clasping one hand to her mouth and feeling the warm slide of tears running down her face.

She flung herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him violently even as sobs wracked her body. This was it – after all she had struggled with, the torture and pain, this was her pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Willy had become the sun in her sky and that he felt the same way to ask this of her was a divine blessing.

"Yes…Yes! A thousand times, yes!" she whispered into his ear as she clung to him.

He crushed her to him as a wide grin broke across his face. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer of thanks to the God who allowed Veronica to come into his life. He released her long enough to snag his pants, lying discarded near the kitchen table and pulled out the small red velvet box.

Willy waited with an expectant grin as she opened the box. A surprised bark of laughter escaped her and a few more tears leaked out. Inside the box was a wide band of red and white gold, twisted around each other to resemble a candy cane. Knowing as he did, that her work involved using her hands, he'd known that a simple band was more appropriate.

He slipped the ring from the box and over her right ring finger, "You told me once, that you were mine for as long as I'd have you."

"And you said, forever," Veronica said softly.

"Now you know I mean it," he said, smiling at her and leaned forward to collect another kiss.

Perfect moments in time are rare things – when a person comes across them it is a challenge to recognize and preserve them in memory. This was hers.

They never did get around to dinner that night.

--

"Being beaten into a bloody smear is one thing – I really can't complain about it. Simple violence is an easy enough drive to understand. But I hope the bastard that broke my leg gets some horrible venereal disease and ends up with flaming boils all over his testicles," swore Spencer as he was struggling to pull on the athletic shorts Reggie had brought him from home.

Reggie, fresh from the hospital the previous day chuckled at his lover. "Here, let me help. Sit back."

He leaned over and helped the other man loop the shorts around his foot and to pull them up around the thick cast that covered his leg.

Reggie had woken up the day before yesterday with a slight headache, but much improved from when they had brought him in. The doctors had been amazed at the amount of healing his stitches had undergone and the bruises that covered his face were fading rapidly to an ugly green yellow.

Spencer, likewise, had undergone a quick recovery. When they wheeled him in for the CAT scan in the morning, the dark splotch of blood present on his previous films of his brain were gone. The doctors had immediately reversed the medication keeping him unconscious and he awoke that morning complaining about his aching head and the discomfort of a broken leg. With nothing further keeping them there, the Doctors were forced to let the men leave – grumbling about the inability to keep them for future study

_Silly Doctors_.

Reggie looked up at the knock on the door. He saw a top hat waving from the cracked door, "Come in Willy. Spencer's up and dressed."

Willy Wonka pushed open the door and replaced the hat on his head, "Good Morning, Starshines – the earth says 'Hello!'"

"If you're waiting for a chorus of "Age of Aquarius" you'll have to wait until we get home," Spencer said, smiling weakly at the dapper Chocolatier, "I'm afraid the nursery would be quite upset with all the howls of protest I'd get from the babies."

"You look like you're in a good mood for someone whose girlfriend just took off for the opposite side of the world," Reggie remarked as he gathered up Spencer's things and returned them to the backpack he'd packed for him.

Willy gave him a secretive smile, "I'll tell you when we get you guys back home. Are you ready for the thrill of a lifetime?"

Reggie and Spencer exchanged glances. They were still bruised and battered and looked like they'd been beaten within an inch of their lives.

Which they had.

"Depends on what the thrill is – I think climbing Everest is out for the afternoon, but you might want to check back with us next Thursday. We might be able to fit a "thrill of a lifetime" in before tea," Spencer drawled.

Willy let out a high pitched giggle and Reggie couldn't help the smile that crossed his face at the sound.

"No sillies. I mean for your transportation home this afternoon – I brought the Wonkavator."

Spencer clapped his hands in joy and Reggie rolled his eyes. Honestly, it was like living with a 7-yr-old at times.

"Will it fit the wheelchair?" Reggie asked.

"Yep. Now, come along and don't dawdle. I've got clearance on the helicopter pad for about 10 more minutes," Willy grinned, spinning on his heel to exit the room.

"It is safe, right?" Reggie asked, grabbing the chair from Spencer who was frantically attempting to wheel it out behind the Chocolatier.

"Yes. Ronnie swore it was safer than Alton Towers." Spencer whined, nudging the chair forward from his over-cautious lover. He always wanted to ride in Willy Wonka's marvelous Wonkavator.

_I'm going to regret this_, Reggie thought as he slung the bag over his shoulder with a muffled yelp of pain as the movement pulled on his stitches across his abdomen. He pushed the giddy Spencer to the elevator where Willy waited, hand on the 'open door' button.

They reached the top floor and rolled out onto the open tarmac of the helipad on the roof. A glass box with boosters sat in the middle of the pad. Willy pulled out a key ring and hit a button. The Wonkavator gave an electronic chirp, like a car alarm standing down, before the doors automatically opened.

"Still no Wonkavator thieves?" Spencer snickered as they wrestled the chair inside and took up positions on either side, hugging the transparent walls.

Willy punched a bunch of buttons at the same time, ignoring Spencer for the moment. "It'll take about 10 minutes in the air. I'll bring us down on the roof and get you delivered safely home. Just as I promised your sister this morning."

Veronica had wrangled the promise from him with Reggie as a witness the previous day after escorting Reggie home to rest after being discharged from the hospital after his "miraculous" recovery.

"Okay – you're still grinning like a maniac. Spill. Why're you so happy about our Ronnie being gone?" Reggie demanded.

Willy stared at the ceiling and hummed under his breath with a smirk on his face as the Wonkavator blasted off. Reggie gasped and grabbed a purple strap hanging from the ceiling. They flew in silence, marveling at the scenery as it whizzed under them. Most of the snow had melted, leaving the buildings and street grey and dirty looking.

The Chocolatier turned to the two men, "I'm not sure I should tell you. She might skin me alive if I let the cat out of the bag too soon."

"Oh – going to be like that are you? Well, Mr. Fancy Chocolatier, I just want to say ….eek!" Reggie's bluster broke off as they swerved down and to the right, circling over their brownstone building. Spencer hooted and held his hands in the air like he was on a ride at an amusement park.

_Spencer must have been hitting the painkillers a little too hard_, Reggie grouched.

"Okay – you say 'eek' like a little girl, noted, quoted and wroted," said Willy.

The Wonkavator set down gently and the doors opened. Reggie pulled out his own massive set of keys and unlocked the utility elevator. Willy pushed Spencer onto the elevator and had enough room to turn him to face the door, still humming that maddening tune under his breath.

They got to their floor and Reggie unlocked the door. Willy gently nudged Spencer inside while Reggie dropped the bag with relief and closed the door behind them.

"Okay Willy, you've tortured Reggie long enough – please tell us why you're practically tap-dancing with happiness," Spencer said, taking a deep breath. It was good to be home.

Reggie spotted a blinking light on the answering machine, "Wait a second – it might be Ronnie. Let me listen to the messages first."

_**Beep** _

"_Mr. Carmichael? This is Detective Cavenaugh from the Metropolitan Police Department. I got word that you and Mr. Talbot were to be released this morning and wanted to inform you that we're keeping an eye on you two until after the trial gets done in California. _

Their faces were frozen in surprise. Willy's smile disappeared in an instant and he whirled to stare at the machine in horror.

"_While we can only suspect Brahm's involvement, but we would rather not take the chance of anyone else getting hurt. I've spoken with Ms. Carmichael and let her know about our suspicions and she's said that she'll take precautions on her trip. In either case, this mess will be wrapped up by the weekend. I'm glad you're home from the hospital and hope your recovery goes smoothly. Give me a call if you have any questions. Good day."_

_**Beep**_

"Veronica said that there weren't any suspects," Willy said softly to himself

"That's true – but Cavenaugh hinted that this might be connected to that slimeball," Reggie said. He noticed the look of shock on Willy's face. "I thought you knew – that was why she was traveling with your lawyer and L.A."

"They didn't travel together. L.A. and Tupik-Ra had to take a separate flight – they left yesterday," Willy hastily explained, starting to pace.

His expression darkened, "She deliberately kept me in the dark on this. Why that little…."

"Who? Who kept you in the dark? Ronnie?" Spencer asked, worried.

"Yesss…" Willy hissed through sharp white teeth.

His gut was exploding with anger, fear and betrayal – his thoughts swirled around his head.

"Little sister trying to take the burdens of the world on herself again," Reggie sighed, taking a seat on the arm of the couch. "Bloody girl is always trying to take on more than she can chew without telling me what's going on. Hell, we didn't even know she was that close to eviction when you first hired her."

"She promised me. We made a promise not to keep things from each other," Willy muttered, hands clasped behind his back as he paced furiously, cane tapping at the backs of his knees.

"Veronica wouldn't have told you – she's trying to protect you," Spencer said gently. "She only does that with those she loves. Everyone else she usually just gives them the shaft and tells them to go bugger off."

Willy stopped suddenly, his violet eyes distant, face still. Her fears about going alone, her jumpiness when he approached her last night. They all made sense now.

"_I shouldn't have asked. I should be able to do this without dragging you away from here like a child with her security blanket"_

_Veronica had been terrified for her own life and too sensitive to his own fears about leaving the factory to ask him to help her. _

_Damn it!_

"Gentlemen. I hope that you found the trip satisfactory and that you have everything you need. I bid you a good day – I'm going to California," the Chocolatier said in a neutral voice.

"California? Willy wait a minute," Reggie yelled as Willy turned abruptly and headed for the door. "Why do you need to go there? She's supposed to call in a few hours time to let us know that she made it alright – she's still in the air for Christ's sake!"

Willy paused, watching him from the corner of his eye.

"Why should you head across the bloody pond to ride to her rescue her when she may not need it?" The dark-haired man pleaded.

"Because I love her. The woman I am going to marry is in trouble right now, even though she may not realize it. She's too mule-headed to ask for help when she needs it. Excuse me." Willy said quietly as he stalked out of the apartment, closing the door on their astonished faces.

"Did he just say he was going to marry my sister?" Reggie asked, stunned.

Spencer just shrugged.

--

Veronica slouched in the passenger seat, head resting on one hand as they waited, yet again at one of the numerous traffic lights in the downtown area.

Billy kept assuring her that it was "a couple more blocks" for the past 45 minutes. She was tired, her head was beginning to hurt from the poor air quality and bright sunshine and she missed Willy terribly.

She glanced down at the pink and white metal fondly, her mood perking once again after seeing it.

_It wasn't just a dream._

Willy's steady support was the only thing keeping her going at this point - that and the determination to eliminate this danger from her past that threatened them.

_My mess, my clean up._

Idlly, she watched the busy people in the cars as they were stalled in traffic. The average citizen of Los Angeles seemed to have a fully functioning office in their cars - pagers, cell phones, BlackBerries, IPhones, IPods...the list was endless.

Veronica squinted to see how much progress had been made. Bright as the sun was, she'd need to slather on the sunscreen when she got to the hotel to prevent the painful sunburn that seemed to haunt her everytime she spent more than 10 minutes in full sunlight. Reggie had always teased her about having the complexion of a vampire.

At least she had more color than Willy...although she coulf really use his sunglasses at this point, she was going blind out here.

She toyed with the ring on her finger, spinning it absently, "No wonder everyone wears sunglasses out here."

"Huh?" Billy asked intelligently.

"Never mind."

There was some sort of commotion up ahead, two people standing in front of a fender-bender were screaming at each other and into their cell phones with equal fury instead of pulling their vehicles off to the side of the road and discussing things like the sensible people.

Bloody Idiots.

Veronica was startled from her reverie when someone approached the driver's side door and pulled it open without warning. A Hispanic man, clean-cut features, clean denim shirt and pants held a semi-automatic gun on the two startled people.

"Get out," he ordered Billy.

Billy fumbled with the clasp of his seatbelt and was viciously ripped from his seat and tossed out into the street by the gun-wielding man.

Veronica held up one hand in protest, fumbling with the clasp of her own seatbelt to jump out of the other side. Her heart was pounding in terror and she could hear herself whimpering softly as her fingers fumbled with the mechanism – fear making her clumsy.

"Not you," the man said. She yelped as the rear backseat door on her side swung open and another similarly dressed man hopped into the backseat.

A hand clad in a rough leather working glove with a white cloth in it grabbed her from behind, slamming her back into the headrest. She gasped, the pungent smell of whatever was on the cloth making her head swim dizzily.

Veronica's heart kicked up to overdrive as she clawed at the hand over her face. The gunman was forgotten in this primitive fight for clear breath. She inhaled slightly and her vision started to dim, the heaviness in her limbs dragging her down into the waiting darkness.

_Willy help! _She thought weakly.

She gasped involuntarily one final time and the fumes drove her into unconsciousness.

The man waited until she had taken a few more breaths of the chloroform before giving the nod to his accomplice.

Billy Wright, of the L.A. DA's office could only watch in horror as the carjackers jerked his vehicle in a tight circle, clipping the fender of the person in front of him and sped off in the opposite direction to disappear around a corner.

"I am so fucked!" he wailed falling to his knees in the street.


	52. Chapter 52

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work "Unicorns Shitting Rainbows" is property of Twist (under Discworld fan fiction – great stuff, go read it.). No Oompa Loompas were harmed in the making of this fan fiction._

_**Warning: Adult content ahead – if adult sexual behavior disturbs you, move on. You have been warned!**_

– _Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 52**

As soon as the door closed behind Willy, he was sprinting for the stairs, leaping up them three at a time to get to the roof faster. As he hit the top landing, he fumbled the alarm out of his pocket and clicked it as soon as the door was open.

The Wonkavator chirped, doors slowly opening and he barely squeezed through not waiting for them to open fully. He punched the button for the factory with a bit more force than necessary.

Thrusters fired and he quickly disengaged the safety mode to allow the craft the full range of speed available.

_Why didn't she tell him_?

Willy leaned against the transparent wall, one hand covering his mouth in heavy contemplation. He knew she trusted and loved him – no matter what was happening now, her reaction last night wasn't contrived.

He'd discuss the matter once he found her in L.A. He just wanted to see her safe before he bothered to blow his lid over her deception.

Charlie would be in charge of the factory while he was gone, and he'd inform Mic-Ka of what was going on so he could keep an eye on the tribe to ensure no horse-play took place while Charlie ran it. The Oompa Loompas trusted Charlie, but they would test his authority and play pranks if not restrained.

_But how to keep an eye on her and what Victor could do while there?_

Crafting a plan as he flew, Willy barely noticed when the Wonkavator regained its tracks and stopped by his office. The gentle thump as it stopped jarred him from his thoughts and he shot out as soon as the doors opened.

Raising his head, Willy undulated loud as possible. The eerie cry rang down the long corridors and before it had faded, small heads were popping out of doors and bodies appeared from around corners.

"Get Charlie, Mic-Ka, Orville, Smiley and Sherman here ASAP. This is an emergency," Willy ordered to the first worker who arrived.

She gave him a startled nod and sprinted off. Heavy drums started to fill the factory – after all what was the use of running down the hall when a simple drum summons did the same thing?

Orville and Smiley arrived first as they were closest to their employer's office.

"Won-Ka? What is the matter?" Ori-Vil cried. He'd never seen the tall man like this before – even when that Gloop child had burst pipes around the factory and caused weeks of work to pile up while repairs were made.

Willy held up a hand, "Wait until everyone gets here, I don't want to waste time repeating myself. It the Grand Wonkavator ready to go?"

Willy had been tinkering with the Wonkavator design for years – his masterpiece was the Grand Wonkavator capable of mach 3.3 and designed for upper atmosphere transit where it could go even faster thanks to no wind resistance. If necessary, it could even survive the rigors of going into space thanks to the specially tinted and reinforced panels.

"Not yet Won-Ka, we need to finish the wiring and complete the flight testing…" Ori-Vil started.

"I want it wired and ready to go in two hours," Willy said flatly, pacing rapidly.

Ori-vil and Smi-Li exchanged glances. They knew better than to argue with the Chocolatier when he was like this, but their apprehension was apparent. Ori-Vil crossed his arms and bowed, hurrying off to make miracles happen.

Charlie arrived next, sweat dotted his brow and he was panting slightly, "What's the emergency?"

Willy said nothing, but continued to pace as he waited for Sherman and Mic-Ka to arrive. Charlie could see the deep worry on his mentor's face.

_Must be something with Veronica_, he thought. Nothing else except perhaps Slugworth getting his hands on another recipe could invoke this level of concern from Willy.

Mic-Ka in his traditional Oompa Loompa dress and Sherman in his shirtsleeves joined them.

"Do we have everyone? Groovy. Charlie – you're in charge until I get back. Mic-Ka, I'm going to need you to watch the tribe for any mischief while Charlie's in charge. It's good practice in either case," Willy said, pacing rapidly, hands twisting the cane with little squeaks of protest from his gloves.

"Run the factory? Where are you going?" Charlie asked, panicking.

"Smi-Li – I need the cyber team to track down…" Willy broke off as his theme song broke the air. Surprised, he pulled the slim cell phone from the interior pocket of his jacket. There were only three people who would be calling him at the moment.

"Yes?"

"Won-Ka! It's me," said L.A.'s voice over the line. She sounded near tears and Willy had a sinking feeling near the bottom of his stomach.

"L.A.? What's wrong? Is Veronica and Tupik-Ra alright?" he asked.

She started sobbing and anything said after that was incomprehensible. Willy could see everyone looking at him in concern – he knew his face had just lost all color and the world was starting to tunnel in as he fell into shock.

There was the sound of shifting in the background of the phone and Tupik-Ra's deep voice came over the line, "Won-ka. Ver-Oni-Ka was kidnapped on the way to the hotel. One of the junior assistant DA's was driving her through downtown when he was carjacked. They're trying to track down the vehicle now - there's been no sign of her yet."

_Oh dear God, no! Not this - not now._

Willy forced himself to breath slowly – not to start hyperventilating and pass out now. Acid churned and he was both hot and cold at the same time as he tried to force his mind to grasp the meaning in Tupik-Ra's words.

His worst fears had just been realized.

"Who's in charge?" Willy heard himself ask.

"The DA Jack Sinclair and the LAPD right now. They know Victor Brahm is somehow involved, but have no leads into who might have taken her or where she would be held. Mr. Brahm is free at the moment as the case against him is stalled. None of the other witnesses are willing to come forward at this moment," Tupik-Ra said in his dark calm voice.

Willy found himself being soothed by the rich tones and able to think once again for the moment.

"I'm on my way out there. You and L.A. prepare for a contingent of the tribe and set up some accommodations for us to base our own operations on it. Prepare for war," he said in a dark voice.

He snapped the phone shut, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath – praying for Veronica's safety and safe return. He had finally found the love of his life and she had just been stolen away from him. Horrible thoughts of what she might be going through - visions from his nightmare invaded his thoughts and he had to fight down the rising tide of nausea.

_Why her? After all she's been through - why are you punishing her now?_ He pleased with whatever heavenly host was listening

"Won-Ka? What has happened?" Sherman asked carefully seeing that his employer was ready to shatter.

Willy realized he was shaking like a leaf.

"Veronica's been kidnapped on the way from the airport to the hotel," Willy said thickly - expression fearful and eyes lost.

Gasps and cries of alarm filled the air as the surrounding workers heard the news.

"I found out this morning that she'd left without telling me that Victor was suspected of being behind the attack on her brother and Spencer. He's got her." His voice trailed off to a whisper and he had to close his eyes and take deep breaths again to try and regain his composure.

_Falling apart isn't going to help her_, he thought_. I need to keep it together long enough to get her back – then I'll collapse._

Charlie felt shaken as the titanic confidence that Willy carried around with him like a cloak seemed to vanish and for the first time since meeting the man three years prior – Willy looked every one of his years. A protective surge rose in him to help the man that had taken him and his family under his wing and share his home with them.

No – he'd be damned if he'd let Willy down when he needed them the most.

Charlie stood tall and confident – he'd been trained by the best. It was time to use what he had learned to help his friend.

"Smiley – get the cyber team together and five of your best warriors ready for urban setting, both reconnaissance and SWAT. Sherman, I need you to go with Willy to Los Angeles to see if you can come up with a psychological profile on Victor Brahm – you might be able to figure out where he might have had her taken. I'll go talk to Mum and let her know I can't go to school for a few days – I'll get the homework and work with a tutor once this situation has cleared up," Charlie snapped, meeting the eye of each person addressed with a conviction and air of authority that was beyond his meager years.

They each nodded, crossed their arms and bowed with new respect. Smiley bolted to collect his teams and Sherman to hastily pack his bags for a trip.

Willy opened his eyes – the violet so much brighter in the white face since it was the only color remaining, "Thank you Charlie. I'm glad you're here."

Mic-Ka put a soothing hand on Willy's calf, "Do not concern yourself with things here Won-Ka, Charlie and I will keep things going smoothly here. Go – find your mate. Defeat this enemy."

The shaking eased and Willy nodded slowly – his expression darkening and Charlie felt a frisson of superstitious fear creep down his spine.

"As soon as the Grand Wonkavator is ready, we'll head out. By my calculations, it should only take about an hour and a half to get to L.A. from here in a low orbit. We'll call you to let you know how things are going there via the secure link," The evil gleam in his mentor's eyes chilled his apprentice to the core. Willy tugged his clothes into position and ensured the cloth was immaculate before meeting Charlie's eye.

The boy was suddenly reminded of the expression on Willy's face previously as he watched each of the children visiting his factory get eliminated. If the methods of elimination were mild for the kids involved (albeit painful and humiliating) what must be going through his mind for the fate of the man who kidnapped the woman he loved?

He shuddered – this would get ugly.

"I'm afraid Mr. Brahm has managed to get on my bad side and he's going to discover why that's a bad idea," Willy said, straightening his hat and minutely adjusting his gloves. He smiled, but there was nothing of humor or happiness there – it was a baring of the teeth and promised bloody retribution.

"Let's boogie."

--

Victor paced through his Malibu home. He'd just returned after an abrupt recess from the court proceedings. He slung the tie and suit jacket over one of the stools at the breakfast bar and quickly uncuffed his shirt to roll up the sleeves.

He had a feeling he knew why a messenger ran to the prosecutor's table in the middle of the proceedings.

He understood the look of loathing that the attractive blonde woman shot in his direction as she requested a recess for the rest of the day. The judge was all too willing to accommodate so he was ordered to return tomorrow morning. By then, if the prosecution's star witness didn't arrive and no one else was willing to testify, the case would have to be dismissed. No paper trail to follow meant that there was no other way to track his movement in the shady areas of good business.

It was good to network.

The sudden break must mean that his associates at Slugworth Candies deposited the money requested in the account he'd set up as a drop for the men he'd inquired about to escort Veronica from the airport when she arrived.

After all, her safety was his top concern.

The phone rang and Victor checked the ID to see that it was Raoul calling. He grabbed the headset and clicked on, "Raoul! How are you doing today?"

"Pretty good, Vic. How'd court go this morning?" Raoul Slinkard, Slugworth Candies corporate attorney purred.

"Had a sudden break until tomorrow. I have no idea what's up with the DA – if they're going to try and convict a guy, shouldn't they have their shit together first?" Victor joked – no way was he going to speak plainly on an open line. They were probably tapping his phones.

"They've got other concerns right now. Don't worry – I'm confident this will all blow over in a few days and you'll be back on top of your game. We have full faith in your abilities."

Victor sneered, that was corporate speak for _Screw up and you're gone, asshole._

"I appreciate your support," he replied, keeping his thoughts to himself.

"Given any more thought to our discussion about cooperating on some projects developing new products?"

"I think we could come up with something to give your competition a run for the money. Wonka won't know what hit him," Victor grinned at the double meaning.

"Wonderful. I look forward to meeting with you at the outcome of this case," Raoul said.

They said their goodbyes and hung up.

Victor hummed a little tune under his breath and ignored the clock as he poured himself two fingers of the 18-yr old McClellan scotch he preferred. He sipped appreciatively and seated himself in the living room, clicking on the television to catch up on the news.

There was a local report on – some impossibly blond, painfully thin woman was reporting from the steps of the very courthouse he'd been at this morning.

"No futher reports about the whereabouts of the kidnapped woman have come in. Investigators say that Veronica Carmichael was traveling downtown in a grey four-door Ford Escort when the car-jackers stole the car and tossed the driver out into the street before making their get-away. Anyone with information about the incident should call the hotline."

Victor chuckled to himself and toasted the scrawny woman on the screen, "To your health Veronica!"

The two men hired knew where to take her – into the back roads of Orange County where even in the most metropolitan area in the world, the chances of discovery were remote. They'd make sure that she was tended and lay low until the word of his exoneration got out.

He sat back, closing his eyes and relished the fantasy as it played out in his head – how things would happen.

_He'd meet up with them at one of the old oyster shacks down by the pier – she would be a bit roughed up and weak from her time in captivity. He hadn't specified that they could play with her, but she was attractive enough that as long as he didn't specify that she should be left alone – it was a likelihood._

Victor hummed as he felt his arousal at the thought growing…

_He could see her clothing dirty and torn, the luscious flesh exposed – the dazed look in her eye fading to fright as she realized who her captor was. He would stand over her, grabbing her wrist roughly and throwing her to the ground._

He caressed his growing erection through his pants…yeah, she would find that intimidating after the pathetic offerings of that fag Wonka. What did he ever want with that loser? Slugworth understood how business was done without all the cotton-candy and unicorns shitting rainbows that Wonka was notorious for. God only knew what he was doing to that kid in the factory anyway…

_Victor would crouch above her, tearing the flimsy clothing from her body – unwrapping that tight toned body he'd only glimpsed that night in London exposing her small breast, jiggling slightly with his movements and as she trembled in shock and horror; those luscious pink lips peeking over the dirty rag in her mouth and cruelly digging into her face as it wrapped around her head._

_He would relish those little whimpers she made, the moans and cries. Cherish the soft wet noises as he prodded her wet pussy – making her groan like the whore she was. He would memorize the twisted features of her face as he bit at those charming little breast, leaving deep red marks and bleeding welts._

Not able to resist the urge any more, Victor swallowed the remainder of his scotch in one gulp and hastily unbuttoned his pants and drew down the zipper – freeing himself from the constricting cloth.

_He pried her thighs apart, caressign the soft skin mockingly. Then holding the long trembling legs wide as he could apart, he'd plunge himself into her unprepared body – her constricting heat and feeling resisting flesh as it tore under his assault._

He brought himself to completion with a strangled moan as he visualized their next meeting.

He caught his ejaculate in the empty glass, carefully setting it aside to rest on the side table – it was Waterford crystal after all – and something for Rosalinda to clean up when she came in this afternoon.

Smiling happily, he allowed himself to bask in the afterglow of a few minutes, lazily watching the news and feeling rather pleased with how things were turning out.

Tucking himself back into his pants and flipping off the television, Victor decided to head down to the business to see how things were going. No use getting lazy just because things were going his way.

Humming a song under his breath, Victor grabbed his keys and left the house.


	53. Chapter 53

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. It is a little known fact that more than 900,000 people in the United States go missing every year – 23,000 a day. The sad reality is that less than 25 percent of these people are ever found. The next time you pass someone on the street – think of that fact and you start looking at humanity a little differently. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 53**

It was the swirling sensation the Veronica noticed first. Her eyes were still closed, but her head seemed to be at the center of a merry-go-round and everything spun around her in sickening circles. Her mouth was dry and a horrible taste was making her already churning stomach rise in her throat.

She tried to turn over off her back onto her side where she could throw up, but her hands were bound behind her back. Panic started to threaten. Losing her lunch was inevitably now and she couldn't move enough to make sure the flow wouldn't get on her or worse – inhale it and die choking on her own vomit

Veronica must have made some small noise of alarm, because gentle hands helped her turn onto her side and pushed her hair out of the way so she could heave helplessly.

"I've got you – there's a bucket by the bed," said a softly accented man's voice.

Gripped in heaving, she could only hang in his hands, the bitter fluid stinging her dry lips and some seeped into her nasal cavity, making her heave even harder. The bile of an empty stomach and whatever dregs of coffee in her system leaving quickly.

Her head was pounding horribly, muscles aching with the effort as she shook involuntarily – sweat popping out all over her body adding to the general misery.

She hadn't felt this bad since her last bout with the flu.

After dry heaving for what felt like about five minutes, the heaving subsided and she sagged weakly – all energy exhausted. The man nudged her upper body back onto the mattress and tucked a worn flat pillow folded in half under her head.

It hurt too much to move or make the attempt to open her eyes. She felt a wet cloth wipe her face and a moment later a plastic bottle was pressed to her lips. She cautiously sipped, tasting water – flat and stale, but tasting like Nirvana to her parched throat.

"The Chloroform will make you feel like shit for a while. Lie still and that will be the worst thing to happen to you," he said, taking the bottle away and she heard him set it down nearby.

For the first time Veronica opened her eyes to see her captor.

A Hispanic man, in his late 20's or early 30's sat looking at her. His dark eyes were intent waiting for her affirmation. It was the man who had gotten into the driver's seat.

Licking her lips she nodded and said, "I understand."

Her eyes were sagging shut again against her will, but she was able to take in the rough details of her prison; one room, cabinet with a hot plate and a coffee maker on it, two seats at a worn table with a single bulb burning overhead. The floor was hard packed dirt and the shack only had one door at the far end across from her, bolted and locked. No windows – the walls were wooden boards.

Not wasting any more time holding her eyes open, she concentrated on smells. Thanks to her upset stomach – her sense of smell was heightened and she could smell the heady sweet citrus aroma of orange blossoms permeating the area. There was also the spicy, greasy smell of whatever her captor had prepared himself for dinner – meat with sharp spices that made her cringe in renewed nausea.

The room was still spinning and her thoughts moved like cold treacle. She could hear the sounds of crickets and wondered for the first time what time it was and how long she'd been knocked out for. Veronica bitterly regretted the jet lag that had her so turned around it was impossible to even guess what time it was outside.

Giving up for the moment, she allowed the press of drugged sleep to overcome her.

--

L.A. paced in the spacious area of the conference room. Downtown Los Angeles was sprawled in its smoggy splendor outside the huge bank of windows that filled the room with bright sunlight, but it's glory was lost on the rooms occupants.

Tupik-Ra snapped the slender purple phone with the golden embossed 'W' on it shut and turned to his companion, "He's on his way – they'll be here in about two hours. I gave him the coordinates to the Four Seasons – they've got the facilities and privacy we need. With a little financial prodding, they cleared out one of the remote bungalows."

L.A. was silent, one hand pressed tight across her lips, brows furrowed in thought.

Gritting his teeth, Tupik-Ra climbed unsteadily to his feet from where he sat at the conference table. Moving slowly – as if recovering from surgery or someone not used to moving, he shuffled over to where L.A. paced.

"We should have traveled with her – watched her back," she said softly as he caught her arm as she passed and collected her into his arms for a comforting hug.

It was so nice to get a hug from one of her people again – even under the circumstances. She had grown so large that it would have four adults to circle her waist.

Tupik-Ra looked down at her face, his stern features softening as he shared her guilt and grief, "Without foreknowledge, that was not for us to know. Won-Ka is coming – nothing will stop him from finding Ver-Oni-Ka. We must do what we can from this end to enable him to find her safely."

Blinking back tears she nodded and pulled away to straighten her clothes, "Right. So what should we do?"

He gave her a grin – the transformation to his solemn features to pure gamin was startling to those who did not know him.

"That's the spirit - let me show you what Sni-Ki of the Cyber team managed to dig up and send our way before they left." He motioned for her to join him at the conference table.

She looped one arm around his waist to help him balance as he wobbled as he turned, "Still not used to it yet, are you?"

Tupik-Ra snorted, "No – bloody beanstalks the lot of them – all arms and legs. Not the proper size at all."

L.A. helped him regain his seat and took the chair next to his to lean over to see what was on the screen of the purple laptop computer with the secure satellite connection that Willy had insisted that his lawyer take with him when traveling.

"This is a list of Brahm's last tax return and what properties he's claiming on. These three in town here are restaurants or catering businesses. He's also got a condo listed as a primary residence. The police are already hitting the places of business, but they're having problems establishing just cause for a search warrant for his residence," he explained.

"Yeah, well. We're not the police. Should we go and check it out?" she asked dubiously. "I seriously doubt that he'd be stupid enough to take her to where he lives."

"Right off the evil overlord list," Tupik-Ra agreed, "Our quarry is a conniving hornswaggler, but he's not an idiot. However…"

He typed in another command and a new form was brought up, "He's claiming a tax rebate for health insurance on one person under his employ listed as a domestic. I think he's got someone to come in and clean his place."

L.A. smiled for the first time since learning of her friend's abduction and it had nothing to do with humor, "Well then. Maybe I should to have a chat with Rosalinda Valdez. If Brahm holds up to type with mistreating females under his employ, she might be willing to assist us."

He nodded, "Good idea. I'll head over to the Four Seasons and get things set up there for Won-Ka and the team's arrival. I'm not going to be much use until I get a few more rounds of practice getting stretched out. How have you managed to survive it this long?"

L.A. was silent and he felt guilty for reminding her of her handicap.

"Because there was no other alternative. I'm used to it now and when I'm out here, it feels normal. It's only when I go home to the village that I realize what I've lost from growing so large," she said softly.

Tupik-Ra's heart nearly broke from the resignation in her voice. He and the others had never realized how isolated she was. To be of the tribe and yet apart from it in this strange land...

He'd loved her since she was a girl, and had sought her hand in marriage from Sher-Man-Ra as she sought out her outside education by computer. It was right after he had managed to attain his law degree and gotten his accreditation.

Then the awful day when she had returned from her first practice with the stretching toffee and waiting for her to shrink down to her original proportions.

L.A. never did.

She had freed him of their engagement and their relationship had been put on hold ever since.

His heart ached with her sadness and he wondered if they would ever be able to press forward again.

"I'm sorry – that was rude of me," he apologized, dark features blushing slightly.

L.A. ignored the comment and said, "I'll take a cab to the Condo and scope it out first before trying to track down Ms. Valdez."

She rose and strode out of the room, closing the door silently behind her, leaving the Oompa Loompa man with the hurt expression to his business.

--

The condominium was in a gated community behind a thick wall of stucco and iron fencing. There were three buildings surrounding Victor's home and two different entrances that she could count. One was out of site of the condos behind the separate garages – a large sliding gate intended for trucks or deliveries. The front entrance was key-coded narrower –for more common vehicles. Both had video surveillance and bored gate guards posted in shacks at both entrances.

L.A. glanced at her watch. Won-Ka would be arriving in little less than an hour, so there were only a few minutes to explore before taking the waiting cab back to the Four Seasons to meet her employer and accept whatever punishment he wished to deliver for failing her duty.

Still, she vowed to bring back some useful information. Time to go check and see if anyone was home. If anyone answered the door, she'd pretend to be lost or meeting someone. All the buildings looked identical so it would be an easy assumption for someone to make once inside.

"Wait here please, I'll be back in about 10 minutes," she told the driver, shoving a wad of bills to pay the fare up to that point.

L.A. followed the line of the wall. Lush foliage peeped overhung at points and she looked for an area where the leaves and branches would conceal her next actions.

A sturdy vine of some sort clung to the wall of one section beyond the narrow entrance to the complex. She scanned the trees and surrounding area for any other form of protection.

None.

Slipping out of her heels and slinging her purse around her body, she rapidly scaled the vines and hopped over the wall. To one used to climbing trees as most people would climb stairs, the exertion didn't even raise a sweat.

She slipped the shoes back on and walked along a pretty gravel pathway to the entrance of Victor's home.

L.A. swallowed nervously, raising her hand to knock.

The black metal door opened just as her hand descended and she jerked back in surprise with a cry.

The matronly Hispanic woman with iron grey hair and a trim figure also fell back with a cry, grasping for the crucifix at her throat.

"Aie! Madre Lo Dio!" she gasped, "You frightened me!"

"You too. I'm sorry to have startled you. Are you alright?" L.A. said, taking a deep breath as her heart hammered loudly in her chest.

"Yes. I was just leaving this accursed place," the woman grumbled, shutting the door behind her. She wore a plain black button down dress with a white collar.

_This must be Rosalinda_, L.A. thought excitedly.

"Accursed?" she asked delicately.

"Si. The man is a pig – his Madre must be much ashamed of her boy-child, for he is filled with the devil himself," Rosalinda said, obviously recovering herself after a fright. "He leaves such things as broken glass, food and other nasty surprises for me to pick-up after. I would never let my son treat anyone in such a way."

"Really. I'm sorry to hear that you're having such problems," L.A. said softly. "No one should have to be treated that way – simple common decency is a fundamental human right."

Rosalinda nodded, "Si. You were brought up right. Such a good girl. Now him?" she pointed back over her shoulder to the door with a shudder. "Any boy who leaves…," here the woman blushed in embarrassment, "…jugo de hombre sitting in a glass like left-over soda should have his ears boxed."

The woman's humiliation was clear enough to L.A. what she had said without understanding the Spanish phrase.

Ew.

"That's disgusting. You must be quite upset," she said sympathetically.

"Si. This is the last time I clean up after that pig. I don't need this job- I've got four other houses to clean and two more on a waiting list. I do not need his filthy money."

Rosalinda stomped up the path to a worn-looking Honda civic. L.A. walked beside her, "Has Mr. Brahm been your boss for long? I was coming to ask him about a job he was looking to fill."

The older woman snorted, "Three months – longer than the last two maids and longer than I should have been putting up with his garbage."

Rosalinda cast an appraising eye over L.A., "You seem like a good girl, so I warn you – do not work for this man. He has evil in his heart and will attempt to take advantage of you. He left me alone because I am too old for his taste."

L.A. nodded respectfully. Rosalinda was exactly what she'd been praying for and could hold the key to finding out where Victor was holding Veronica.

"Listen, I'd like to talk more about this if you have the time. Would you let me buy you a cup of coffee or something as a price for some more good advice?" She offered. "I took a taxi and am unfamiliar with the area – so wherever you suggest, I would be willing to go."

_Please say yes_, L.A. thought. Anything to help find her friend.

Rosalinda gave her a hard look, trying to figure out the young woman's intentions. It had been a long stressful day and a cup of coffee and a chance to vent before heading to her next house to clean would be a welcome diversion.

"What is your name, Child?" asked the older woman.

"Llana Aloua, but my friends call me L.A."

"Very well, L.A. I am Rosalinda," she held out a dry hand to shake hands with the younger woman.

L.A. was amazed at the strength of the grip.

"Treat this old lady to some coffee and sweet cake and I will fill your ear with all sorts of nonsense about that devil."

L.A. returned the woman's smile, hope flaring in her heart.

She'd be late joining Tupik-Ra at the Four Seasons...

...but she would be bearing valuable gifts when she did.


	54. Chapter 54

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Did you know that trying type while over-caffeinated leads to more mistakes and longer typing time regardless of the actual increased number of words per minute? Right now I'm typing about 200 wpm but actually only writing about a page per hour. Yeesh! – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 54**

The late afternoon sun had turned the concrete slab around the small private pool into a griddle. Tupik-Ra stood, shading his eyes as he scanned the horizon for the Grand Wonkavator. The cottage and the pool were concealed in heavy foliage away from the main complex of the Four Seasons hotel.

Tupik-Ra shifted from foot to foot – getting the hang of his new center of gravity. He could walk slowly now and was becoming accustomed to these new proportions.

_I should have taken L.A. up on the opportunity to practice before coming out here_, he thought, listening to the birds chirping in the tree tops. _Staggering around this morning made me look like a fool and lost a lot of credibility._

The humid heat made him feel at home and he raised his face to the sun and closed his eyes to feel the bright light upon his face.

_I made a fool of myself with L.A. too_, he thought glumly. _My unthinking words offended her and drove her away again._

He had been hoping that business out on the West Coast could be cleared up quickly and they'd have a chance to go out on another date while there. To actually woo her as a man would a woman without the strange compromises that their unequal sizes brought about.

Tupik-Ra's thoughts were cut short as he heard a sonic boom fire far overhead. His eyes popped open and he winced at the bright light. Shading his eyes and blinking away tears, he saw the Grand Wonkavator rocketing in overhead.

The design was identical to the regular Wonkavator – but there was more equipment for life-support in high altitudes on top and the glass was mirrored with a bronze finish rather than the usual transparent glass. It slowed again eliciting another sonic boom and started to descend rapidly.

Too Rapidly.

His heart leapt into his throat as it fell from the sky, seemingly uncontrolled. It seemed like an eternity of helpless horror – the craft plunged to earth without slowing.

_He's going to crash!_

At the last minute, thrusters fired, slamming the craft mere feet from the ground into to a slow decent. The mirrored sides of the box reflecting his startled reflection and the background of the pool eerily.

The Grand Wonkavator settled gingerly upon the stone surface. He kept his distance until the thrusters cut out then ran forward to assist everyone inside.

The doors slowly opened with a hiss of escaping air and a few small bodies tumbled out with relieved groans.

There had to be about 15 Oompa Loompas and the tall form of Chocolatier crammed in next to a stack of plastic shipping crates. Everyone looked slightly shaken. Willy blew out a puff of air and turned toward Tupik-Ra. He wore his huge black glasses and the dark plum top hat was slightly sitting slightly skewed on his head.

"Sorry about the scare – NORAD picked us up coming back into the atmosphere and thought we were a missile from Korea or something. I had to shake a couple of F-22s out across the desert before heading here. There's going to be more UFO sightings around Flagstaff I think," Willy said, stepping clear of the Grand Wonkavator and letting his workers clear the remaining crates from inside.

"Everyone okay?" Willy asked, looking around and seeing a lot of relieved faces looking back at him. "Good. Tupik? Everything set up here?"

"There's the cottage with the facilities we need," Tupik-Ra pointed behind him. "There's a small conference room where we can set up operations with a secure T-1 line inside."

Turning toward his employer, he asked curiously, "Why were you under attack? I thought NASA had you on file as an identified craft?"

"You'd think after everything I'd done for NASA, they'd cut me a little slack – but no, I had to get vetted by some yahoo there who was out to lunch when the initial sighting occurred. Good thing he had a blackberry with him or I'd be in real trouble." Willy explained, straightening his hat and clothes with sharp jerks. The dark plum coat got a brisk brushing off and the dark pants had a few errant tufts of lint plucked away.

There was a tight energy around his employer, an abruptness to his movements that illustrated his nervous energy more than any words. The dark glasses turned toward the lawyer and his lips were tight and colorless, "What's the latest?"

"The police still are tracking leads – they've been checking out his businesses and are keeping the man himself under surveillance," he avoided Willy's eyes.

"What else?" he asked, seeing Tupik-Ra's hesitancy to speak.

"I found out some information about who's been paying Brahm's legal fees. You're not going to like it."

"So?"

"I mean you REALLY won't like it. Won-Ka, please promise me that you will not react rashly?" Tupik-Ra pleaded.

"Just tell me," Willy snapped.

"Slugworth Candies," the Oompa Loompa whispered, shutting his eyes and bracing for the verbal explosion.

Silence.

Unable to take the suspense, Tupik-Ra cracked open an eye. Willy was frozen in his tracks, face beyond pale. He actually staggered back, clutching his cane.

"Won-Ka? Are you alright?"

"How involved are they with Brahm?" he asked in a terrible voice.

"They're footing the legal bill and have formally made an offer for employment dated as of three days ago," Tupik-Ra said. "Brahm has not accepted the contract yet, at least not since I checked."

"Either Slugworth has sunken to new lows or they don't know the depth of what they're getting involved in," Willy muttered then turned his head, "Orville! Get that stuff inside and set up ASAP, I want a war meeting in half an hour."

Tupik-Ra escorted the tall man into the cottage and let him prowl around exploring while workers swarmed the place, running wires, setting up computers and equipment. He checked his e-mail and voicemail on the phone for any further updates – his heart sinking as the time passed with no new information.

"Where is L.A.?" Willy asked, returning to the dining room table that was currently serving as his work area.

Before he could answer, he heard a knock at the front door. It opened without waiting and a clatter of high heels on tile floor in the hallway. L.A., slightly disheveled, but looking victorious entered the cottage.

Her expression slipped as she saw Willy and she crossed her arms and bowed her head, dropping to one knee to kneel, "Won-Ka. I am so terribly sorry for what has occurred. I have no excuses for my lapse in my duties."

Willy's face was astonished, and Tupik-Ra could hear the tears in L.A.'s voice as she continued.

"My actions were inexcusable. I've betrayed your trust, I've allowed your mate to fall into the hands of her enemy, and I've managed to lose a good friend. I can only hope that the information I bring helps ease the pain in your heart and increases the chances of bringing her back safely. My incompetence in failing you can ask no mercy. My life is in your hands."

"Um…L.A.? What are you doing?" Willy asked, confused.

She kept her head lowered, "As my employer and acting chief, I am awaiting my punishment for failing to keep Veronica safe."

"What? No…here, get up," Willy said, helping L.A. to her feet. He took off the glasses, revealing reddened tired eyes and took her hand in both of his.

"You did not fail me," he told her earnestly, "She did not tell any of us the full danger of coming out here. I only found out when escorting Spencer home with Reggie from the hospital. I was already in full spaz mode when I found out she'd been taken. You are not to blame for this."

L.A. gave him solemn look, "But I still feel so guilty and like I need some form of punishment."

He rolled his eyes, "Fine. No cocoa beans for the duration of this trip and fifty lashes with a wet noodle. Tupik-Ra, you take care of that when this is all over - probably at Cicada or something, my treat. Now, what have you discovered?"

Taken aback at his casual dismissal of her guilt she stuttered, "I met Mrs. Rosalina Valdez, the maid for Victor Brahm's condo in Malibu. She's fed up and turned in her notice today – however, I managed to get her to put in a good word for me to replace her. He was a bit preoccupied on the phone, but told me to come by tomorrow to clean. I'll be a mole on the inside and be able to snoop around."

Willy cracked a wicked grin, his sharp teeth glinting in the light, "Excellent. We'll have to come up with a lovely little plan to take advantage of this opportunity."

Tupik-Ra had a feeling that Brahm wouldn't like what Won-Ka would come up with.

--

Veronica awoke again, her headache receding slightly. Her hands were still bound behind her back and when she shifted her hands, she heard the faint clink of metal on metal – handcuffs then.

She lifted her head to see the man from earlier sitting at the table with a bottle of soda and reading a paperback. He set the book down and looked at her steadily.

"May I use the restroom?" she asked, her throat dry and voice cracking.

He came toward her and helped her sit up then climb to her feet.

The floor felt strange under her, seeming to surge up to meet her feet. He turned her away from the entryway and dialed in the combination to the padlock on the door, snapping it open and flipping open the latch that bolted the door shut.

The sun was setting outside as he guided her toward the teal green port-a-potty next to the shed. Medium height trees in unnaturally straight rows were dotted with white blossoms providing the lovely scent she had first experienced in the shack. It seemed like a very remote area – an orange grove.

He silently came up behind her and with a rattle, loosened one hand from the cuffs holding her hands behind her back. He clicked the cuff to her jeans belt loop in the back – effectively hobbling her from attempting to strike out at him if she was of a mind.

"Go ahead, you have five minutes – if you're not done by then, I come in after you," he said, dark eyes flat.

She nodded and opened the door – reeling back from the stink of fecal material sitting in a hot environment for God knew how long.

Holding her breath, she entered and fumbled with the button and zipper, managing to get the pants down without too much trouble. Flinching, she overcame her disgust and quickly relieved herself. Pulling the pants back up was difficult, but her head was starting to swim from lack of oxygen so she managed with minimal fuss, desperate to be out of the hideous port-a-potty.

Staggering out, she gasped frantic to clear the stench from her nostrils. The man chuckled, "Yeah, it's nasty in there."

He unlocked the cuff and was getting ready to chain her arms behind her back again when she asked, "If you really need to do that, could you do it in front. My arms are killing me right now."

Shrugging, he cuffed her again – this time her arms in front. Taking one arm, he guided her back into the shack. Through her peripheral vision, she could see a long dirt road through the trees and one white pick-up truck parked behind the shack.

He pushed her back inside and quickly bolted and padlocked the door again.

"Thirsty?" he asked nudging her to take a seat at the small table.

She nodded and he handed her a bottle of water from a pallet of bottled water sitting next to the door. Veronica chugged about half and replaced the cap before setting it on the table.

"You can call me Paolo. Let me set up some ground rules with you. Follow them and you might live. Disobey and you're dead," he said in a matter of fact tone. The casual way he announced the consequences sent a chill down her spine.

"Don't try to hit, spit or insult me or my partner. It'll just make us angry and will end up bad for you. Do what we tell you, when we tell you and we'll get along just fine. Don't bother pleading or bribing us, it's one of my pet peeves and I'll beat your ass. My partner has a bad temper, so stay quiet and don't move around too much or you'll get his attention when he's on watch."

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked quietly, keeping the tremor of fear out of her voice.

"Right now, we're just holding you until we get further orders. Trust me, this isn't what we want to be doing."

"Then why are you?" Veronica asked, curious.

Paolo grimaced, "I've got family who slipped in over the border and I need to pay their debts to the Coyote. That's all you need to know."

"Thank you for letting me know where I stand," she said softly. She still didn't trust this man, but he didn't take advantage of her while unconscious and he seemed to be honest in his warnings.

…besides, he had never mentioned anything about not trying to escape.

"De Nada. Are you hungry?" Paolo asked, "You should probably get something in your stomach."

"I don't mean to be a bother," she said, her stomach lurching at the greasy spicy meat smell when she had first awoken.

"Nah, it's alright. I warn you, I'm a horrible cook though."

Fear was pushed aside as a plan started to form. She had to gain his trust first, to get him comfortable with her in the kitchen. Veronica was getting a feel for her captor and knew she could work around him. The partner was an unknown factor at this point – so she'd start with what she did know.

"Tell you what," she said, slowly, "I'm a good one – let me cook and I'll make dinner."

"No funny business – or I'll break your legs," he warned, the prospect of eating something other than his own efforts greatly appealing.

She nodded passively, and went to inspect what there was in the small cardboard box by the side of the stove; black beans, some white rice, a mango, an onion and half a pound of thawed chicken. There was salt and pepper as well as other assorted seasoning and a small bottle of oil on a small shelf above the stove next to a large black cast iron skillet. One pot that looked like it had been kicked around was already on the hot plate.

"How does mango chicken with beans and rice sound?"

Paolo looked surprised, "Sounds good. Are you a chef or something?"

"Something like that." She agreed neutrally.

She handed the onion and the mango to Paolo, "Since I know you won't trust me with a knife, how about you chop those up for me. The onion into small pieces, the mango peeled and into larger chunks."

Nodding, the man took a sharp four inch blade out of the sheath on his belt and carefully started peeling the mango.

"I'm guessing you bring your own supplies with you each day?" she asked carefully with her back turned to him as she added a bottle of water to a beat up saucepan that was sitting on the two-burner hot plate. She pulled out the beans and measured an amount in her hand – tossing in three handfuls from the bag. Setting the heat on low, she pulled the heavy cast iron skillet down off the shelf, unwrapping the chicken and setting it inside with a splash of oil. She seasoned it well with salt and pepper and turned the burner on medium. She tossed the wrapping and the empty bottle into the brown bag that was serving as a trashcan judging by what was already inside.

Veronica's movements were sure and even, she made no sudden moves and Paolo relaxed slightly. The handcuffs giving her a little trouble, but she worked around it.

"Yes. Why?"

"Grab me some good sized shrimp or good white fish, two limes, a hot pepper, some corn and another onion and mango and I'll make you a dish you won't forget. No cooking involved. If you want to add some lettuce and corn tortillas, you've got simple fish tacos."

Paolo nodded. It sounded like a recipe his mother always made, and at a time like this, he really missed his Mama's cooking.

He pushed the chopped mango and onion toward her, watching her movements carefully. She took a handful of onion and the entire mango and dumped it into the simmering skillet. If he was going to end up watching her for a while – at least he was going to eat well.

Besides if she tried to escape or get out of line, then he'd let Luis take care of her.

Permanently.


	55. Chapter 55

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Believe it or not, but we are about ¾ through the story. There is an end in mind – question is, how WILL it end? Bwah! – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 55**

Victor approached the courthouse without the air of trepidation and fear that had marked his previous visits. The media swarming outside were shouting questions, but he'd been warned off making any interviews or comments by the Slugworth lawyer in the strongest possible terms. Still, he knew he looked dapper in his carefully fitted bronze colored suit and light golden tan shirt, showing off his tan and carefully highlighted hair.

Entering the stately building, he removed his sunglasses and tucked them inside his jacket. The building was swarming with people in suits – talking on cell phones or speaking quietly, holding briefcases or files. He'd wager more than 50 percent were lawyers – the remaining folks either clerks, clients or there for testimony.

There was a small crowd of nervous looking people gathered outside the room where his case was being heard. Victor recognized a few former employees. He met their eye evenly and he was titillated when they dropped their eyes first or shuffled out of his line of sight.

Smirking, he entered the courtroom and walked down the aisle to meet Raoul at the head of the room at the defendant's table.

The Slugworth lawyer cast a sardonic eye over his client, "You look relaxed considering the circumstances."

"Just confident. Has the DA attempted to press forward yet?" Victor said neutrally.

"No. I think Judge Danvers is going to dismiss the charges this morning unless they can cough something up."

"Good – then we can talk business," Victor said smirking slightly.

The DA team shuffled in, looking somewhat downcast and in a few cases, shooting glares in his general direction. The bailiff called the court to order and they rose as Judge Danvers entered the room.

The older man took his seat and glanced over the files before him, "Good Morning. I believe we are picking up after breaking yesterday to allow Mr. Sinclair's office to track down a key witness. Mr. Sinclair has Ms. Carmichael been located?"

Jack Sinclair stood, his face grim, "No your honor. Ms. Carmichael has not been seen since she was abducted yesterday."

Danvers peered over the reading glasses, "And do you have any further witnesses?"

Victor could see the DA grit his teeth. He knew that the former employees he'd seen this morning were afraid of him and what he could do to them – taking care of Veronica had just solidified their fears.

"No, no we do not, your honor." Sinclair gritted out, his courtroom training preventing him from shooting Victor with a poisonous glare. "I would like to request another continuance to allow the Police another day to locate our key witness."

"If I allowed that, I'd have to let everyone with a missing witness do the same. Denied. Do you have any further evidence to present, counsel?"

Sinclair leaned forward, hanging his head, "No your honor. We rest our case."

Raoul stood smoothly, "Your honor. The presented evidence is circumstantial and was supposed to be supported by this alleged witness. Without it, there is no evidence pointing to my client under these charges. I move to dismiss the case."

There was a rumble of protest from the audience in the courtroom and Judge Danvers had to tap his gavel to quell the mummer, "Order!"

The older man sighed and ran a hand through his thinning silver hair, "It is with deepest regret that I have to agree. The evidence portraying Mr. Brahm in a criminal racketeering scheme is based on the testimony of the missing witness. There is simply not enough here to press forward. I'm sorry Mr. Sinclair."

He shot Victor a stern look, "Personally, I think you're trouble Mr. Brahm, but I am bound by law." He slammed the gavel down.

"Case dismissed."

--

It was late afternoon by the time Raoul Slinkard deposited his inebriated client by his front door.

A celebratory lunch at an exclusive little sidewalk café in Hollywood Hills with three or four martinis had Victor gaily telling everyone around him what a wonderful guy he was, how talented he was, and how hung he was.

That was before he had barfed in a potted palm by the table.

Raoul had sighed and paid the check to the disgusted waitress, adding a hefty tip after Victor had grabbed her butt, making her squeal loudly.

"Thanks Raoul – you're a real pal. I promise you…we're going to make a lot of money. Sick...mad money. Money that will throw Wonka into the street," the drunken man slurred as he shakily hoisted himself out of the white Miata.

"Whatever you say, Vic. Call me tomorrow once you sober up and be prepared to wow us with some ideas," Raoul said silkily.

_If this buffoon doesn't produce, his ass is hitting the street_, Raoul consoled himself. After dealing with the idiot's ego all afternoon, it was a happy thought_. We'll take over the restaurants, sell off his assets to cover his tab and wash our hands once and for all_.

It had been against his better judgment to get involved with Victor Brahm at all. The shady dealings, the under-the-table threats and the way his accuser had 'disappeared' pointed to a dangerous man who could bring bad publicity to the company. But once Old Arthur Slugworth had heard that the accuser was none other than Wonka's main squeeze, he had been on the next plane to L.A.

"See ya!" Victor waved absently, negotiating the sidewalk to his door with furrowed brow.

_What a putz_, sneered the lawyer as he drove away.

--

Victor dug out his keys and attempted to wrestle the key into the lock. He dropped them twice before managing to get the door open and staggering inside.

Collapsing into his favorite black leather chair before the television, he allowed his head to sag back, feeling the world swirl around him like he was the sun in his own personal solar system.

He really hadn't meant to drink that much at lunch, but between his relief when the charges were dropped and the general celebratory mood, he had indulged himself an extra drink or two as a reward for controlling his temper and behaving himself long enough to get him to this point.

A soft clink in the kitchen had him sitting up and opening his eyes lazily.

A pretty young woman in a maid's uniform was standing with her back to him at the sink, washing dishes. Dark hair was piled up on her head and sensible shoes were on her feet, but the strong line of her calf as it disappeared under the hem of her uniform was tempting as were the soft curves of her ass under the dress.

"Who're you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Lana, sir. I'm Rosalinda's replacement," was her soft reply. She turned to face him, drying her hands on a dishcloth.

_Holy crap! She's hot! _

Victor grinned at her. This was a massive improvement over that old horse Rosalinda.

"So, Lana. Are you aware of your duties?" he purred, indicating her to come closer.

"Yes Sir. I am to come in three times a week, between 2 and 5 to clean your home. General picking up, washing clothes and dishes, making sure the refrigerator stays stocked, sweeping, mopping, windows…the works," she said, standing about two feet away from him.

"What else?" he asked, staring at her shapely breasts under the severe black uniform.

"Sir?" she asked, confused.

He indicated for her to kneel down so he could talk to her face to face, taking perverse pride in seeing her on her knees before him.

Leaning closer, he could smell her flowery perfume – something tropical and sweet, "I mean what else would you consider adding to your duties?"

He leered at her, enjoying the flush of embarrassment across her cheeks.

"I…I don't know what you mean Sir..." she stammered becomingly, her hands twisting in the dishcloth, dark eyes bright.

"I think you do…you're quite lovely. Where are you from?" he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek.

Her perfume hung heavy in his nostrils, the dizziness growing worse as he breathed it in.

_I must have been more sloshed than I thought_.

She lowered her head to look at the floor, "You would not have heard of it, Sir."

"Try me – I am very well traveled, you know." He said thickly, it felt like his nose and extremities were going numb. A small alarm started going off in the back of his head as he felt the numbness grow and his vision starting to tunnel in. The heavy perfume clogged his throat and he felt like he couldn't breathe.

Still, when he felt her small hand take his and hold it against her cheek, dark eyes dancing up at him with mischief, he felt his heart begin to race with anticipation.

"Loompaland," she breathed, her pretty pink lips glistening in the sunlight.

He felt his brow crease in confusion even as darkness claimed him.

--

L.A. sighed in relief as the man's eyes rolled back in his head and he toppled over to fall next to her with a thud.

Smiling, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number, standing to go to the door as she did. It rang once and picked up.

"He's out – we're clear," she said succinctly, opening the door.

A white service van from Sears was parked in the alcove next to the entrance. At those words, the doors popped open and a team of Oompa Loompas dressed in flat grey jumpsuits jumped out and ran into the house. Orville and Sher-Man Ra jumped out as well and entered the house without a look in her direction.

_I'm fine…thanks_, she thought sarcastically.

She walked around to the passenger seat of the van where Willy sat, cell phone in hand and a dark expression on his face. He had ditched his usual attire and wore a white shirt with regular sunglasses and a ball cap with his hair pulled back in a slick ponytail peeking out from under the back.

"Slimeball was trying to make a move on me. You're lucky the perfume worked as well as it did." L.A. said, a disgusted expression on her face.

"Yeah. Speaking of, you should probably go shower it off before you knock the rest of us poor dumb males out," Willy said.

One of his backfire creations for Valentine's day a few years back had found a new purpose. Originally intended as a scent for his eatable roses, it had been discovered during testing that it knocked anyone possessing a Y chromosome out for a few hours.

"I'm gone. I just wanted to ask how Reggie and Spencer took the news," She said, removing her hairpins and letting the heavy hair fall down around her shoulders.

His silence said plenty and she excused herself quickly rather than endure more of that painful moment.

Willy sat, his anger pulsing again as he recalled the horrible conversation. It wasn't that they ranted or raved at his inability to find her, or to prevent Victor from walking away scott free. Quite the opposite in fact, it was their calm acceptance and blind faith that troubled him.

"_If there is anyone on the planet that can find her, you can Willy. We trust you." _

While he waited for his team of workers to come back to let him know that the place was secure and the preparations for questioning were completed, he fought back despair. Each minute that ticked by without word was agony and the bright hope that she would be returned without harm faded. It was the uncertainty that was killing him slowly – the uncertainty that made him jump every time the phone rang, to look up expectantly every time there was a gasp or cry of discovery. It was the uncertainty that made him die a little bit more inside when it turned out to be nothing.

Now that Victor was in his hands, he was afraid of what he would do to the man.

He was not a violent man – in fact the thought of violence made him ill. But under these circumstances, he wanted to lash out at Brahm – to feel the visceral satisfaction of his fist breaking his nose to make him reveal what he had done with Veronica. He wanted to break the man until he was pleading for mercy, pleading for his life.

That was the realization that made him sick.

"Won-Ka?" asked a familiar voice. He turned around to see the solemn face of Sher-Man-Ra in the back of the van. He could see the open door of the condo behind him.

"Is everything ready?" Willy asked, jerking himself out of his thoughts.

"Almost. I wanted to talk to you before you go in there. How are you doing?" Sherman asked, taking a seat on the wheel well of the van.

Willy sighed heavily, "I'm ready to do this. If it'll get Veronica back, I'll do anything."

"I'm hoping it won't come to that," Sherman confessed.

The Chocolatier nodded sadly, "Me too. But part of me is also hoping it does. That's what I've been struggling with while sitting out here. Part of me wants to beat the ever loving crap out of the man for what he's done – and I don't like that."

"Really?" Sherman said, looking at his friend with interest.

Willy sighed. It was a tough call to make, but what could he do.

_You could take a step back_, Bob said.

What?

_Take a step back and let Sherman run the interrogation. You're too involved_, Bob said sensibly.

"I was going to ask you to let me ask the questions," Sherman said, echoing Bob eerily. "I know your anger may drive you to rash action. You are an essentially gentle man, and this is not your strength – I believe it would tear you apart if you went down this road."

_Could you live with yourself if you let your anger override your better judgment_? Bob asked. _No matter what happens, do you want Victor Brahm haunting your thoughts for the rest of your days?_

Closing his eyes at the anguish he felt, he nodded sharply, feeling like he was condemning Veronica to death with his inaction.

It was now out of his hands.

--

Veronica lay curled on her side. The dirt floor was lumpy and hard, but far better than the cot right now. She looked across to where the cot now rested in front of the door, the steadily breathing man laying on it, curled up under the blanket.

Thank God he was asleep.

She tried to make herself comfortable and to fall asleep, but jumped in alarm every time her new captor shifted.

Closing her eyes, she reviewed what had happened that evening.

Paolo had been finishing his dinner with gusto when the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside had snatched her attention. It sounded like a large truck.

Paolo had motioned for her to take a seat on the bed when the engine had cut out. There was a knock on the door and her heart thudded in fear and anticipation.

"Quien es?" Paolo asked harshly.

"Quién la cogida usted lo piensa es?" replied the voice harshly. "Déjeme en bendajo."

Paolo snorted and quickly dialed in the combination, clicking it open and flipping the latch.

A weedy man, tall and lean, dressed in a similar way as Paolo, but somehow seeming dirtier and more rumpled came through the door. His work boots were greasy and so was his face and heavily pot-marked face.

"This is Luis, do what he says or else," Paolo said, walking out the door.

Veronica watched as Luis quickly closed and locked the door once again before turning his attention to her.

She didn't like the way his eyes crawled across her body, or the way he leered at her, thin lips parting to reveal brown and jagged teeth. Veronica watched as he sniffed, eyes falling on the remains of the chicken and rice sitting on the table. He sat and wordlessly shoveled an amount onto the empty plate that would have been hers and started eating.

"So, you cook," he grunted after a moment, snake-flat eyes locked on her.

"Yes" she said simply, trying to keep herself calm. Her hands betrayed her, twisting in on themselves, the chain between the cuffs clinking.

"What else do you do?" he asked, innuendo sitting heavy in his voice.

Choosing prudence, she said nothing, but looked down at her hands.

There was a slight noise and she looked up and yelped in surprise as Luis had somehow moved closer, now only inches from her face.

"I asked you a question, punta. What else do you do?"

"I make candy," she whimpered, trying to lean back from his face. His breath smelled horrible, like he was rotting from within.

"Good girl," he sneered.

Then he had slapped her across the face, knocking her off the cot and onto the floor.

"Don't give me attitude, punta. I'll take it out of your pretty little ass."

Terror warred with pain as her cheek throbbed. She couldn't stop the slow trickle of tears leaking from her eyes as she looked up at him, waiting to see what he would do to her next.

He had lifted the cot and carried it over to lay across the door – making sure that she made no effort to bolt during the night.

Grabbing the plate, he had gobbled the remainder of the food, never taking his eyes off her crouched form on the floor.

Hours had passed and she had pressed her back into the wall and simply watched apprehensively. He stared right back, occasionally smirking at some dark thought and when he did, she trembled. Several times, he had taken out his cell phone and glanced at the small screen before snapping it shut and returning it to his pocket.

Finally, he had yawned and laid down to go to sleep, confident in his ability to wake and deal with her if she tried something and assured that he had her cowed sufficiently to prevent escape.

Too bad he was wrong about that.

As she had cowered in the corner, she planned. This guy was an amateur compared to what Marcus had done to her, she assured herself – resolve stiffening her spine. He couldn't do anything to her

She'd already survived the worst.

It would have to be tomorrow morning when she made her break. That would give her daylight hours and make it easy to see where she was going. He had made a mistake showing her the phone – she'd grab that as well and start calling for help as soon as she was clear.

Closing her eyes, she bided her time and prayed.

For Willy.

For herself.

For freedom.


	56. Chapter 56

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. This might be my last update for a few days due to extenuating circumstances. I live on the east coast so the weather is about to get a bit…damp thanks to Hurricane Hannah__._

_ – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 56**

It was the crash and the cursing that jerked Veronica awake the next morning. Luis was digging through the meager kitchen supplies, throwing things around and had dropped the heavy skillet.

She rubbed her neck, sore from dozing while sitting upright wedged into a corner. Her butt felt numb and she cautiously stretched her legs out before her, bending from the waist to try and ease the cramped muscles. Her bladder was clamoring that it was full and she did her best to ignore it rather than dare ask her captor that she needed to go.

The area around her wrists was red and irritated from the constant chaffing, but she ignored the discomfort for now to focus on warming herself up. There was a slight chill in the air and she breathed deep, stretching her arms and shoulders as best as she could. She'd need to be able to move when the time was right.

The greasy man stopped what he was doing to shoot her a black glare, "You trying to catch my attention, punta?"

He leered and came over to crouch before her, his eyes frankly appraising.

Veronica felt filthy. His leer made her feel like it turned whatever she did into some sort of provocative come-on. She had to move very carefully or he would be on her like a starving pit bull on a steak.

"No. I just need to use the bathroom," she whispered, eyes frightened.

"What will you do if I let you do that?" He reached out and fingered a strand of her hair, brushing against her cheek and it took all of her will not to flinch.

_Oh God_, she prayed. _Get me out of this without being raped, please_!

"I'll make breakfast from whatever you have handy," she said evenly, meeting his eyes.

Luis grinned down at her and she fought not to gag at the stench of his breath or the dirty row of uneven teeth, "You got yourself a deal, punta."

He grabbed the chain between the cuffs and jerked her to her feet. Veronica couldn't help the pained cry as the cuffs cut into her wrist and muscles protested the sudden movement.

"Breakfast first," he sneered, pushing her toward the cooktop and supply box.

While she prodded through the supplies, he returned the cot to its original position. She collected some of the left over rice and dried beans, found some flour tortillas at the bottom of the box in flimsy plastic packaging. There were two eggs wrapped in paper towel and placed in toilet paper tubes for transport. Whatever they were planning, it was obvious that they weren't expecting to be here long.

Veronica added another bottle of water and dumped the beans to soak, setting it to the side for the moment. She took the skillet and added the rest of the bottle of oil to heat on medium heat. Veronica shifted from side to side, uncomfortable, and she could feel his eyes on her butt.

"I can't wait. I'm about to wet myself. May I go now? The skillet is heating and I won't be but a minute," she pleaded, turning to face Luis.

Luis grinned at her pleading tone, "Alright punta. Step away from the door."

She stepped behind the table and watched as he dialed open the lock and flipped the latch open.

The door swung open, revealing the dim light of early morning. Mist hung heavy over the trees and moisture from the dew dripped from the leaves.

Luis indicated that she should go first.

Keeping her head bowed, she walked toward the port-a-potty, taking a deep breath and stepping inside the small dark place – the smell of feces and urine strong in the morning air. Veronica relieved herself quickly and pushed the door to exit.

It wouldn't budge.

She shoved harder and she heard the dark chuckle of Luis outside.

Growing desperate for air, she kicked and hit at the door, "Let me out, please!"

"That's going to cost you extra," he teased.

Involuntarily, she took a small breath and ended up gagging. Her retch must have been apparent outside because he said, "You gimme a little sucre', punta when we get back inside or you can stay in there all day."

"Yes! Alright yes. Get me out of here!" she yelled, feeling her stomach heaving and fighting the impulse.

The door flew open and she fell to her knees, gasping for clean air. The orange blossom scented air never smelled so sweet.

Luis grabbed her shirt, ripping it slightly and heaved her to her feet, "Inside."

He practically threw her inside and she fell to her knees again, just beyond the doorway. Her shirt gaped open wider at the neck and the purple lace bra was bright against her pale skin. Veronica licked her lips nervously, "Please. Don't hurt me."

Luis approached, rubbing his swelling crotch and eyes watching her hungrily, he stepped inside.

She scrambled to her feet and bolted for the cooktop.

"Let me cook your breakfast first," she babbled, her voice high and scared. Her shaking hand grabbed the eggs and expertly cracked them into the pan of oil.

Luis crept up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. His stench wafting over her shoulder and she shuddered at the feeling of his breath against her neck, "Not hungry for that, punta. I'm hungry for you."

His hands crept up and cupped her breasts. She started to struggle as she felt his thin lips on her neck.

With a heave, she pushed back hard from the cooktop, throwing him backwards into the small table. Veronica grabbed the heavy skillet with both hands and whirled, screaming to throw the simmering oil and eggs into his face as he lunged back toward her, fury raging across his features.

Luis screamed, high and confused, falling back and clutching at his eyes. Feeling the intense heat of the pan, even in her scarred hands, she swung the pan as hard as she could, used her whole body to smack him alongside of the head, dropping him to the ground without another sound.

Realizing that she was gasping and crying, she took a deep breath before dropping into a crouch to roll him over. She grabbed the cell phone and the ring of keys from his pocket. Her hands trembled as she sorted through the ring, finding the handcuff key and freeing herself.

With the cuffs off, a sense of calm descended. She took the cuffs and quickly replaced them on Luis's wrist – one arm in front, the other in the back and threading them between his legs making escape far more awkward for him. She stood, kicking him in the side for good measure.

_That ought to hold the bastard_. She thought vindictively.

Veronica closed the door as she left and headed for the white pick-up truck parked behind the shack. It was easy to tell which key went to the vehicle and she hopped inside only to climb out a second later and head to the other side.

_Bloody American vehicles… _

The steering wheel was on the wrong side and the pedals were reversed, but it only took a few moments of fumbling to get the vehicle in reverse and to peel out up the road toward freedom. She felt giddy with delight at having manufactured and executed her own escape without help from anyone, although her conscious nagged her for getting caught in the first place.

The sun was just rising over the horizon as she reached the main road, glancing uncertainly up and down the long stretch of pavement.

_Which way now?_

There was a long line of traffic heading one way. Veronica came to the conclusion that sticking with a crowd was a good thing and pulled out to follow the flow.

Freedom felt good. She'd make sure she kept it this time by making sure she called Willy once she reached civilization.

She glanced at her palms, seeing the blisters on top of the heavy scarring even though she felt little discomfort, nothing requiring immediate medical attention.

Pushing aside the need to stop and let her reaction and shock overwhelm her, she leaned down and flipped on the radio to something insanely bouncy and mindless. Veronica promised herself a nice breakdown once she was safe.

She drove.

--

Victor was spinning in darkness. He could feel the satin of his black sheets under his body as he lay on his back in bed, feeling no particular inclination to open his eyes. Lights and colors swirled behind his closed lids and his limbs felt heavy. A soft pulsing beat filled his ears and he relaxed, hearing his heartbeat slow and steady.

The beat speeded up. Victor opened his eyes in confusion. Colors swirled overhead and an odd atonal note hummed through his body. Suddenly the lights cut out and his room was plunged into darkness. Victor struggled to sit up, off balance and awkward.

A spotlight clicked on revealing a small man in a three piece grey suit standing on the black tiled floor. His black hair was slicked back and his black eyes glittered coldly in the light. Victor swallowed hard as he saw the man's features swell and shift as if something was under the skin. Then the small man opened his mouth and sang in a rich dark voice:

Victor Brahm you're quite the sight

Drinking and schmoozing every night

Pressing Flesh and making calls

Flexing muscle – you've got balls.

Victor felt his unease rise – the words although flattering were angry, accusing. There was musical accompaniment to the man's song and the atonal notes grated against his nerves. He swore that he saw shifting in the shadows. What the hell had he gotten into last night to cause this kind of dream?

Handsome, charming and debonair

You're something else beyond compare

Touching concern and gracious smile

To me and other you are quite….vile.

The last word was hissed and the man's face twisted in disgust. The lights in the room shot up and the world was filled with twisting color, dancing along the walls and crawling across his skin in sickening ways. There were other figures revealed, dressed head to toe in simple black, their faces twisted and red with sneers and pointed teeth - demons from the depths of his fevered Catholic-raised imagination.

Victor yelped and skittered back to press his back into the headboard, his heart beating triple time.

_This had to be a dream_, he thought in panic.

The devils danced and menaced him, singing all the while.

You're a crook, a weasel, a nasty guy

Time to face this thing before you die

A toad, a snake, a really bad man

Did you think you could pull off this plan?

There was a tall figure, dressed in head to toe unrelieved black, from the tips of his pointy shoes to the top hat perched on his head. Even the cane was black. There was a low red light behind him and this demonic figure stared at him with arctic cold violet eyes. It looked like Satan himself had come to collect his soul.

A helpless girl in awful plight

And you at the center of her fright

We know it's you, time to confess

Before you go to eternal rest

The little man's deep voice sent shivers of terror down Victor's back and the lights began to flicker, throwing frightening shadows across the vicious faces of the devils that capered around his bed. Cold sweat streamed down Victor's face, but he was frozen, unable to move. He knew that his deeds would catch up with him, but not now…not like this.

"No…I didn't mean…It's not my fault," he whimpered.

The well-dressed figure of Satan stepped forward with a deliberate grace and he couldn't stop the scream breaking from his throat as he grabbed his headboard in a deathly grip, eyes locked on the menacing figure.

Your time is up – time to collect

The noose is closing around your neck

So speak your sins and free your soul

Or join us in our darkest hole

Where is the girl?

Better speak up now.

Where is the girl?

Time is running short.

Where is the girl?

Evil's closing in.

Where is the girl?

This is your end.

With every repetition, the devils and their master closed in closer and closer. Victor couldn't breathe, his heart was pounding in his chest, in his head – the terror mounting to its peak.

"The orange grove!" he screamed, holding a hand out in protest as the denizens of Hell came to collect, "She's in the orange groves out by the Santa Monica National Park!"

Satan held out a gloved hand and blew a fine dust in Victor's face.

Smelling brimstone and sulfur, he passed out.

--

"Well that was a bit more dramatic than I thought, but it turned out well," Willy said calmly, removing the contaminated gloves and replacing the black latex with purple. He tossed the gloves covered in his sweet dreams powder into the waiting trash bag.

"Let's clean up and get out of here – I don't want to deal with this jerk any more than I have to," Willy sneered down at the unconscious figure. There was a puddle around Victor from where he'd lost control of his bladder in his terror.

He turned to Sherman, who had sung the interrogation, "What was that you gave him to elicit such a strong response? Not that I'm complaining mind you…just remind me never to get on your bad side."

Sherman couldn't conceal his glee, "Nightmare Potion made from ground Schnozwhanger beak. It's a more concentrated version of what we use during our sessions Won-Ka. The purpose of the potion is to unlock your subconscious mind – apparently Mr. Brahm feels that he has a lot to regret and fear. Judging from his reactions, I'm guessing there were some heavy duty hallucinations going on as well."

Willy nodded in satisfaction, "Good. Hope he learned something today. Are we ready to go?"

The last of the lights and other special effects equipment were gathered up and all evidence of their visit were removed and loaded back into the van. Orville was on the secure satellite phone, relaying information to Sni-Ki and getting a list of places that fit the description of what Victor had said.

It was close to dawn, two days after Veronica had been abducted. He climbed shrugged out of his coat, unbuttoning the collar and switched out his top hat for the baseball hat again before climbing into the passenger seat. He sighed and closed his eyes, rallying what little energy he had left for the flight in the Grand Wonkavator out to free Veronica.

L.A., dressed casually, sat in the driver's seat, waiting for the last of the equipment and people to be loaded. "Are you alright?" she asked softly.

"The woman I love is missing. I've just drugged and interrogated the man responsible. I haven't slept or eaten since finding out she'd been kidnapped and have been through the emotional wringer after having to tell her brother about what happened. What do you think?" he asked sarcastically.

"No need to get snippy, Won-Ka. I am just worried about you as well," L.A. said primly.

He opened his eyes and glanced at her with a small smile, "You're right. I'm sorry for snapping at you. I feel tired, scared, angry and oddly like I need a cigarette even though I've never smoked in my life. How're you doing?"

She grinned at him, "Fine, thank you."

Sherman stepped forward, "Won-Ka, everyone is here and everything is accounted for."

"Good – back to the hotel please," Willy sighed, settling deeper into his seat and pulling the cap low over his eyes.

He could catch a few winks of sleep before getting back to the hotel and taking the Grand Wonkavator to try and rescue Veronica.

Within a few minutes, the exhausted man was asleep. L.A. drove as slowly and carefully as she dared. The crew in the back switched to their native language – mostly soft noises and hand gestures.

There was a tug on her shirt, and she glanced down to see her father seated on the console between the seats, "L.A – I am very proud of you."

This took the young woman by surprise, "Proud? Why?"

"You took responsibility for your actions – even though the fault was not yours. You were the one who discovered how to get access to that foul creature, and you were the warrior who approached him to lure him into our trap. What is there not to be proud of?" Sher-Man-Ra said fondly. "You have brought honor and distinction upon yourself and our family."

L.A. blushed, "Thank you. I am pleased that you find pride in me."

"I'm sure Tupik-Ra will be impressed as well," the Shaman said slyly, watching the flush deepen across his daughter's cheeks.

"Father. You know as well as I do that whatever happens, Tupik-Ra and I will never..." she broke off, swallowing hard.

"Do you love him, my child?" he asked gently.

"I've loved him since I was a child. But it is a foolish love and can never be," she protested sadly.

"Patience child. I know you feel that your increased size cuts you off from the rest of our people, but we must have faith that a solution will be found. After all – Wonk-Ka came to deliver us as foretold - and I have a situation that there is a solution to your dilemma as well. We love you no matter what size you are and only want your happiness," he said practically, standing to kiss her on the cheek before hopping back down into the back of the van.

She drove in silence for the remainder of the trip lost in thought.

The sun was climbing up over the horizon when they pulled up to the hotel and passed through the gates to follow the winding path back to the cottage. It took a key pass and typed-in code to get access to the small driveway that led to the back of the cottage.

Willy snorted once and woke when the engine cut out. Without a word he opened the door and climbed out, throwing the cap back onto the seat with disgust and rubbing his fingers across his scalp. Slipping on the black coat he sighed heavily.

The cell phone in his pocket vibrated and he jumped in surprise. Glancing at the unfamiliar number, he frowned and flipped open the phone, "Hello?"

"Willy?" came a familiar female voice, one he'd been praying for the past three days to hear.

"Veronica!" he breathed. "Where are you? Are you alright?"

"I'm at some Valco truck stop along Mullholland Parkway in California. I'm guessing that you've heard what happened." She said quietly. He could hear voices and noises in the background.

"I was already on my way to L.A. when I got the news," he said.

"So you're in Los Angeles, now?" Veronica said, hope peeking through her dry voice.

"Yes. Are you alright?" he asked softly, greatly concerned at her weak tone.

"I'll survive. Can you come get me?" she whispered.

Willy was already running. He bolted through the house ignoring the startled looks and questions and grabbing an atlas laying on the dining room table and sprinting to the Grand Wonkavator in the back by the pool.

Flipping open the atlas to California, he asked, "Okay – what mile marker? I can be there in about fifteen minutes at top speed."

Her voice cracked and as did his heart, "I'm not sure. I think it's 215 by Highway 90 – these Yanks can't give proper direction if their lives depended on it."

"Hang in there, I'm in the Grand Wonkavator now and I think I have the coordinates, hang on a sec," he balanced the atlas in one hand and typed in the GPS coordinates based on what she'd given him. The doors closed and sealed and the powerful thrusters engaged.

"I'm in the air now. LAX is going to hire a hit man to deal with me, but better to ask forgiveness than take the time to beg permission," Willy babbled, trying to keep her engaged and on the line.

"I just want to go home," she said quietly.

--

Veronica sat hunched in the plastic booth at the truck stop. It was a simple place, rows of junk food and motor accessories with a small greasy spoon diner at the back. There was a cup of coffee in front of her untouched.

The truck had run out of gas about a half a mile back and she had trudged to this place with just the change she was able to scrounge from the cab. Considering that gas was running over four dollars and she had scrounged a dollar fifty, a cup of coffee was about she would be able to afford.

Her knees were curled up to her chest and she clutched the phone like a lifeline – terrified that at any moment Paolo or Luis would walk in and she'd be caught again.

She listened to Willy babble with half an ear, taking considerable comfort from hearing his voice. She could hear the thrusters in the background and the occasional moments of strain in his voice as the craft did something that he had to brace against.

Finally, after only 10 minutes, she heard what sounded like a sonic boom outside. The noise rattled the windows and the customers looked around in alarm, wondering what exploded, or if there was an earthquake.

There was another boom and the familiar sound of the thrusters firing as the strange looking craft landed in the parking lot outside.

"Hey isn't that Willy Wonka's Wonkavator?" asked a young man in baggy shorts and flip flops

"I think it is. Holy crap, what's he doing here?" answered the clerk behind the counter.

Veronica was up and moving before the dust had settled, pushing her way through the crowd of bystanders and flinging open the door with a loud clatter of bells.

"Honey – you should just stand back," advised one solid elderly man in the parking lot, grabbing hold of her and keeping her from running toward the Wonkavator.

She jerked free and scrambled forward as the doors hissed and started to open. Alarmed voices were shouting at her, but she ignored them.

Just as a slender figure dressed all in black stepped from inside, she was in his arms weeping hysterically. The crowd began to murmer and point, a few whipped out cell phones and snapped pictures of their embrace. For once, Willy didn't care what the world thought.

Veronica was safe.

He clung to her, crying himself at the relief of having her back. Her thin body was shaking and her arms were wrapped around his neck, threatening to cut off his air supply. He kissed her hard, all the fear, frustration and hopelessness melting away to sheer love and happiness that she was alive. He cupped the back of her head and burried his nose into the crease of her shoulder and neck, feeling that she was doing the same.

"Thank you God! Thank you." he sighed. "You're safe. I've got you."

"Oh, God! I missed you," she cried, hugging him tighter.

He released her to look her over, holding her hands in his. Willy saw the bruise across her jaw and the split lip that accompanied it. He also noticed the torn shirt and felt an icy grip around his heart. She was still wearing the same clothes she had on the last time he saw her as she stepped into the cab to head to California.

"Who did that? What happened?" he asked.

"I was kidnapped by two men – Paolo and Luis. Paolo was alright a bit scary, but decent. Luis did this last night and tried to rape me right before I made my break this morning," Veronica reported in a detached voice. Her composure started to falter and more tears streamed down her cheeks.

"It's okay – you're safe. Let's get out of here." Willy said, wiping her tears away with a tender thumb before looping an arm around her waist and guiding her into the Wonkavator and closing the door. Once inside, she settled into his arms like she never intended to leave again.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about Victor, Willy. It was stupid, and all of this worry is my fault," she cried, letting herself finally fall apart.

"Just relax. Let's get to the hotel and get you cleaned up and to rest."

"I love you Willy, I hope you can forgive me."

"I do. I love you too you maddening woman. Don't ever do that again!" He mock shook her with a stern look.

They shared a tender kiss as the thrusters fired, slowly lifting them into the bright morning sky.

The crowd was creeping closer in curiosity, but backed away with cries of alarm when the thrusters fired, kicking up a large cloud of dust. The craft rose gracefully into the sky and soared away.

The people looked at each other and shrugged going back to their daily lives.

Only in California, after all.


	57. Chapter 57

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. We came through the storm alright - nothing spectacular, just unusual weather for the area. Greetings to Yva after a hiatus. Good to have you back! – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 57**

It took longer to return to the hotel than the original frenzied trip – this time F-16s had scrambled from California military bases and menaced the Grand Wonkavator as it flew.

Considering the American mindset since the attacks on Sept 11, 2001, they were reasonably polite although paranoid and scared when what they claimed was an unidentified aircraft blows through one of the busiest airspaces in the country and disappeared. They stopped being polite when the UFO in question tried to breeze back through.

The two aircraft broke off after confirming his ID and issuing a nasty warning about blowing through restricted air space – no matter whose girlfriend was in trouble.

Willy hung up the radio with a sneer, returning his arm around Veronica's shoulders. She was curled up next to him on the red velvet seat, knees to chest and head buried in his coat. Both arms were wrapped around his middle and he could feel the occasional shudder running through her.

"How're you doing?" he asked gently, fearing that she was slipping into catatonia. He stroked her hair, feeling his blood pressure drop with the simple contact.

"Just trying to adsorb everything that's gone on. I couldn't let myself do it while there. All those emotions tend to pile up," Veronica said, trying to give him a reassuring smile.

"I know what you mean," Willy sighed, "I was so terrified that you were dead, that I'd never see you again, furious with Victor over this whole mess…you know…twitterpated."

"There's one of my largest emotions – guilt. I don't know how many times I'm going to say this to everyone, but I am so sorry I kept this to myself. It's caused all this worry and upset because I thought it was something I could handle – and I was wrong. Terribly wrong. I will spend the rest of my life trying to apologize for the trouble I've caused you," she said quietly, tears starting to stream down her cheeks and her voice tightening with the effort that it cost her.

Willy felt a flurry of emotions at her words. Taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly, he took the moment to try and sort them out. The fear was gone, now that he knew she was safe. Worry – that was still lingering as her unusual meekness lasted. Sympathy was running strong and he'd take the time to indulge in that one. He was still angry with her, but her obvious misery over what had happened and what she'd gone through mitigated that anger. Willy was also disgusted with himself to have to admit to a little vindictiveness – that little voice singing, "I told you so!" in high-pitched playground cadence.

He took unseemly glee in taking that little voice, throttling it and throwing it back into the mental closet.

"As long as you still want to spend the rest of your life making it up to me," he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

Veronica sat up, her eyes bright but bloodshot, "Will you let me? You're not sending me away after this latest fiasco?"

"Of course. I love you. I'm not sending you away just because this happened to you," Willy said. He tugged the gloves from her hands and took hers in a gentle clasp.

She closed her eyes and breathed, "Thank you."

"Although I'm leaving it to you call Spencer and Reggie to tell them you're alright. I don't need to read you the riot act because they're going to do it for me," Willy's grin was a tad too broad for her comfort.

"I deserve it," she said, dropping her head back to his chest and curling up tighter.

Willy indulged in his need to touch her, stroking her hair and lightly running a finger across her hands, tracing the lines of her palms.

An odd texture caught his attention, looking down, he saw the blisters across her fingers.

"What's this?" he asked, eyes widening in concern.

"That? Oh, when Luis was trying to rape me, I had to grab a cast-iron frying pan off the stove and throw the content in his face to give me enough room to swing and knock him out," she said quietly.

Willy just stared down at her hand. Large blisters had formed down the length of her fingers. The rough texture of her scars pulled against the pustules with what had to be agonizing pain. The reminder of what had happened to her threatened to overwhelm him for a moment.

"Doesn't hurt, if that's what you're thinking," she said matter-of-factually, oblivious to his distress. "Over the years, the sensitivity of the scars has decreased so much, it takes quite a lot for me to feel anything. Now, I do feel a bit scorched around the edges, in between the fingers, but for the most part it's ignorable."

"We're getting you checked out as soon as we get back. These are pretty bad, Veronica." He scolded, shaken.

She shrugged, indifferent to the damage inflicted upon herself.

Willy was assaulted with images from his overactive imagination. Of how she might have appeared to this madman who attacked her – the wide frightened eyes, the fear-twisted features. What kind of sick beast would do this to another human being, he wondered. He had come so close to losing her…

The image of a black lacquered casket descending into damp earth haunted him. Feelings of hopelessness, loss and utter despair of having lost the only other human being he'd dared share his heart and soul with; of having to spend long and seemingly endless days without her in a world devoid of color or life.

Willy realized that he was being shaken, he blinked and realized that he'd lost himself in his thoughts again.

Veronica had released him and now held her shoulders in her hands, staring into his face with an expression of abject guilt and sadness.

Willy realized he was shaking and his face felt damp, curiously, he touched the wetness and realized that he'd been crying and not known it, "Oops. Sorry."

"Oh Willy," she said, drawing him closer and resting his head on her shoulder.

Comforted by the warmth and presence of her living spirit, he accepted her embrace and felt tears on the back of his neck as she cried.

"You know – while I was being held, I was only mildly afraid for myself," she admitted. "I was more worried about what this was doing to you. I never wanted to hurt you and now I've brought all of this down on your head."

"Please." Willy breathed; feeling like his chest was filled with lead as he fought off tears, "Please just promise me you won't leave me. No matter what has happened, or what will – you leaving me behind would hurt me beyond my ability to recover."

Only two things could break Willy Wonka – the violation of his factory by exploitation or stealing of his recipes again, or the loss of this woman who he believed to be the other half of his soul.

Veronica used the last ounce of strength in her body to hold him fiercely, "I swear by all that I hold holy – I will not voluntarily leave your side again."

The rest of the flight was spent in silence, the couple taking comfort from one another and trying to find an emotional center from which to rebuild what had been stolen – their sense of security…

…and their innocence.

--

There was a flurry of activity as the Grand Wonkavator landed. As soon as the doors were open, small bodies and excited voices filled the space. Overwhelmed, they froze in each other's arms, eyes closed and wishing the world away with all their hearts.

"Alright, the lot of you. Push off," came a commanding voice. Tupik-Ra brought himself up to his considerable height. "Sher-Man-Ra, please escort Won-Ka and Ver-Oni-Ka to the master bedroom, they both need rest. Ver-Oni-Ka, do you need medical attention?"

Willy nodded and rose, using his strong legs and back to lift her in his arms.

"Hey, I can walk you know," she objected mildly, clinging to his neck.

"Indulge me," he said, carrying her across the threshold.

Tupik-Ra continued to organize the crowd as the Chocolatier and his fiancée went into the cottage, "Sni-Ki, download coordinates from the Grand Wonkavator, we need to know where she was picked up. I'm getting a hold of the D.A.'s office to let them know we've got her back safe. Once she's able to, we'll hit her up for details so we can do what we can to put that bastard behind bars."

L.A. frowned at the man, something was nagging her about him, but she put it aside for the moment to relay information.

"We're also managed to attract media interest. They got shots of Won-Ka landing a few minutes ago to pick her up at some truck stop, but the networks out here have picked it up. I've got calls flooding in and hotel security already let me know that they've had to throw out a few reporters."

There were groans from various people at this news.

"We knew it was a matter of time – I think we need to head inside for the time being. No use inviting trouble," Tupik-Ra said, gesturing for everyone to return to the cottage.

L.A. held him back as the rest of the crowd moved inside, "Considering how exhausted they both are, I'll call Reggie and Spencer and Charlie the news."

Tupik-Ra nodded and looked down at her with a twinkle in his eye, "You know – now that everyone is safely back, I believe Won-Ka told me to take you out to dinner and whip you with a noodle."

L.A. smiled slightly, "Let's survive the aftermath first, alright?"

Stepping inside, she took out her cell phone and quickly placed the call to the factory.

"What's up?" asked Charlie's anxious voice after the first ring. L.A. could hear wheezing and burbling in the background. Glancing at the clock, she was able to see that it was about teatime back home.

"She's back safe. Won-Ka just airlifted her home after getting a phone call, so I'm guessing she escaped. I don't know anything else yet, but she seemed physically unharmed," L.A. reported. "They're both exhausted, or I suspect he'd already be on the phone with you. How are things going back home?"

She heard the boy sigh heavily and could imagine him running his fingers through stubborn dark brown hair, "Things are running smoothly enough, but I've got some issues pressing from outside. Slugworth had been calling, trying to get a hold of Willy for some reason. I think he suspects that he's not here and sniffing around. He's been making a lot of sly remarks about how tough it must be for me running the place. I've put him off for now, but I'm still nervous. Grandpa Joe has been taking most of the calls and he's in a pretty foul mood when he comes home for dinner."

"Okay – I'll pass the information to Won-Ka when I can. Anything else?"

"Nothing but grumbles from Mum about missing school," he replied.

L.A. grinned at the note of hope in the boy's voice. 'Sorry Charlie. I got the feeling that they're going to want to head back as soon as they can. It's not going to be too much longer."

"Bugger."

"Watch your mouth kiddo."

"I know."

"Talk to you later," L.A. promised and exchanging farewells, clicked off. She rapidly dialed the second number, chewing on a fingernail as it rang several times.

"Hello?" asked an unfamiliar male voice.

"Hello – is this Reggie?" she asked.

"Yes. Who's this?" he asked with a heavy note of suspicion in his voice.

"I'm L.A. I work for Mr. Wonka and met Spencer…"

"Oh yes. I remember now. Have you heard anything yet?" he worriedly asked.

"Yes. She's here safe now. Mr. Wonka picked her up a few minutes ago from a truck stop where she called from. Veronica apparently escaped and made her way there – I don't know about injuries or anything, but she seemed physically unharmed. They're both exhausted and would have called themselves, but I wanted to let you know just in case," she said.

There was a small sound on the other end and the phone dropped away.

L.A. clutched the phone in fear, _was he alright_? The man was just out of the hospital…

A murmer of conversation on the other end told her that someone else was there before the phone picked up and Spencer's voice came on, "L.A.? Ronnie's alright? Thank God! Reggie's alright, it just took him a bit hard."

"It's alright, I understand. How are you two doing?" she asked, concerned.

"Just stressed. Neither one of us has gone to work, even though we're mostly recovered. Just tearing out hair out feeling useless over here," he said grimly.

"The media picked up on things here, the wolves are starting to close in," she said, glancing around the busy room.

"Really? I thought of something that might be able to help in that respect." Spencer said hopefully.

"No shotguns – it's not sporting and it makes a horrible mess."

"Close. How about a decoy?"

"Huh?" L.A. said intelligently.

"I've got a friend that might be able to help us out. I fixed up his girlfriend while they were in town last with some of my designs and he owes me a favor," Spencer said.

He told L.A. his scheme and tired as she was, even she had to admit to the sheer genius of it.

Making an executive decision, she agreed to let Spencer set things up.

"Just make sure he's seen in the area around the factory – it'll give Charlie some breathing room as well," she said.

Spencer agreed and they parted company with the promise of making Veronica call once she was able to actually reassure her brother.

--

The water hammered down on her, providing a sort of static to her oversensitive nerves. The heat soaked into her body but seemed to do little to dispel the core of cold around her heart. Now that she knew she was safe and surrounded by those she trusted, it seemed like Veronica was on overload – she wanted to cry, laugh, scream and sleep all at the same time.

Instead, she let the water beat on her, concentrating on the pins and needles sensation to drown out everything else. Although she had scrubbed several times, Luis's touch still seemed to linger – she grabbed the soap and rough loofa again and kicked up the heat another notch.

On top of everything else – she just couldn't get clean. Great.

There was a noise outside and Willy's voice called, "Are you drowned yet?"

Scrubbing hard until her skin stung, she ignored him. She couldn't let Willy find her like this – filthy. She needed to get clean before he touched her again.

"Veronica?" he called, moving into the steamy bathroom. She could see his silhouette outside the frosted glass of the shower stall.

The pins and needles sensation burned and she welcomed it. Let it burn her clean – like she burned Luis.

The door opened and she saw Willy's eyes widen in alarm. He reached in, flipping off the water even as she swiped futility at her red skin.

"I can't get clean," she said evenly, trying to explain. Without the pounding water, she felt lost again.

He gently took the loofa out of her hand, grabbing a towel to wrap around her. His face was sad and her heart broke anew at the sight.

_Looks like something else I couldn't do right_, she thought numbly.

Willy could see that she was in shock. Her skin was bright red in places from her harsh scrubbing and he was uneasy about the bright glassy look in her eye. Veronica was walking a tightrope at the moment and he didn't want to nudge her over.

"Let's get those hands checked out," he said brightly, a plastic smile pasted across his face.

He helped her into the white terrycloth robe provided by the hotel and guided her back into the master bedroom to take a seat on the bed.

Never taking his lavender gaze off of her, he went to the bedroom door and called for Sherman.

The Oompa Loompa entered, carrying the small medical kit like a suitcase.

"Her hands," was all that Willy said, returning to sit next to her on the bed, making sure her eyes were locked on him. He was felt jittery and at odds with himself as well.

Sherman saw immediately what was going on and asked, "Ver-Oni-Ka, would you care for some tea while I tend your hands?"

Her feral gaze glanced at him, "Yes, please."

Sherman glanced at the Chocolatier, "Won-Ka?"

"Yes."

Sherman walked to the bedroom door peering outside and saw his daughter lingering nearby, chewing on her thumbnail as she usually did when distressed. "L.A.?"

"Yes father?" she jumped, startled.

"Could you make me two mugs of the Special Blend? They both need it right now," he asked quietly, shooting a glance at Orville who pretended not to overhear.

"Yes father," she said, turning to the small kitchenette to prepare the ceremonial tea.

Sherman quietly closed the door and returned to his patients. He quickly washed his hands and opened the kit before surveying the outsider woman's injuries.

He inspected the damage and decided that ointment and bandages would be best for the moment. Some of the blisters had popped from the force of her scrubbing in the shower and would become infected if not tended.

He slathered the abused skin with silver nitrate ointment and carefully wound her hands with a thick layer of gauze. At no point did she flinch or turn her eyes away from the Chocolatier.

"Keep these on and dry for a few days. You'll need Dev-On to check them out once we get home. I'm not well versed in scar tissue to make a good judgment for long term care." Sherman said quietly.

L.A. came in, carefully carrying a tray with the mugs of tea and a few ginger cookies on a plate.

"Thank you," Willy said, not looking at her.

"I also called Reggie, Spencer and Charlie to let them know that you're back," L.A. said softly.

Veronica was shaken, how could she have forgotten about calling her brother?

"Thank you," she whispered, closing her eyes and feeling the hot burning behind her lids.

L.A. excused herself and left the room, closing the door behind her. Sherman turned to the exhausted couple sitting on the bed.

"Can you talk about what happened?" he asked carefully.

Veronica surprised Willy by nodding. She wasn't as far gone as he'd feared.

She struggled to pick up the mug with gauzed hands until Willy helped by picking up and handing her the mug before collecting his own to sip. _Wow – this stuff is strong_.

"Thanks," she sipped the hot liquid and felt it slide down into her stomach, feeling that icy chunk around her heart start to thaw.

Veronica started with telling them about the information that Cavenaugh relayed at the hospital. Then she moved on to what had happened at the Airport and her precautions meeting the assistant D.A.

Willy felt some of his anger toward her seemingly cavalier attitude about her safety vanish when she told them about how she'd verified his ID before going with him.

It was her time in captivity that was the hardest to hear.

He was amazed at the level of detail that she remembered - the simple things that relayed so much. Veronica had her eyes closed and her voice was flat and steady as she spoke – obviously to remember things clearly. His own emotions felt somewhat detached and he was caught up in her tale.

It was when she spoke about her second captor, Luis that her composure started to fall apart. She paused several times as she relayed his cruel treatment. The tea was gone at this point, the empty mug clasped tightly in her hands.

"So how did you escape?" Sherman asked, allowing her a moment to pause.

Veronica visibly shuddered, even under the calming influence of the tea and Willy felt a surge of resentment toward the tiny man, "She may not be ready."

"I...I need to be," she said, her voice wavering.

Her eyes opened, and the edge of hysteria had faded, leaving her eyes glassy and dead.

"When he let me out of the port-a-potty, he threw me inside. He was so anxious to have me that he ignored the door to grab at me. I managed to get up and get to the cooktop where the oil was waiting. I could smell him…like rotting vegetables and cigarette smoke. He came up behind me…"

Willy could see her fighting visible nausea, lost in the memory.

Sherman said in a low soothing voice, "It is a memory – in the past and can no longer hurt you. Stop the scene and take a deep cleansing breath." The small man uncapped a small vial and Willy could smell eucalyptus oil, strong and antiseptic. "There is no smell of rot here – he is gone."

Veronica closed her eyes, taking a deep breath of the clean scent, settling under the reassurance. Willy took her bandaged hand and whispered, "I'm here with you."

She nodded and continued, "He grabbed me around my waist, reaching up to cup my breast and kiss my neck. I fought him and he got rough. I pushed away from the cooktop, making him fall backward into the table. He looked so angry, like he was going to kill me with his bare hands. I had maybe half a second to grab the pan. It was hot, but I threw the oil and eggs into his face. He screamed, falling backward and clawing at his eyes. I hope I blinded the bastard. Just to make sure he stayed away from me, I smacked him as hard as I could with the pan. He went down and didn't move again."

A trace of a disturbing smile flickered around her mouth even as her dead eyes regarded Willy, "I wonder if he's dead – if I managed to kill him."

Willy smiled darkly. This was a new aspect to her that mildly disturbed him, but one he felt oddly in synch with. "I hope so Sweetheart, because if you didn't I'm going back and finishing up the job."

Sherman regarded the two. Their sub-consciousness free and communicating thoughts and desires that rarely saw the light of day. This would take some careful maneuvering.

"Can you tell me the location where you drove from, we may be able to see if anyone is there," he asked.

"An orange grove – somewhere about 30 miles up Mulholland Parkway. There was a little turn-off onto a dirt track road. I made a left onto the parkway from that road. The truck should still be parked about half a mile from the Valco Truck Stop." Veronica said, her drugged eyes intent on Willy. "You know, even though you look like death warmed over right now, you've got this rugged manly man thing going for you. I love the stubble."

_Okay – time to end this session and let them drop off before things get a little too open here_, Sherman thought.

"I made Victor pee himself," Willy said brightly. "We went to his house to find out where he'd stashed you and psycho-tripped him out, he was crying like a little girl by the time we were done with him.

_Too late_.

Veronica smiled genuinely for the first time since he'd picked her up, "That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.

"Alright you two, think it's time you both rested," Sherman said firmly, suddenly feeling like he was telling L.A. to go to bed as a child.

Willy yawned widely, his white teeth flashing in the light while Veronica blinked as if suddenly noticing his presence, "Hello Sherman. When did you get here?"

"A bit ago, are you ready to rest?" he asked lightly. _I'm going to have to check how strong L.A. made that tea - they're stoned to the gills right now._

"Yes please." She sighed.

"Well then, I bid you both a good night. Sleep as late as you can," he said, ignoring the fact that it was early morning – they had after all been going without sleep for several days. Hiding his smile, he crossed his arms and bowed, leaving the room.

Veronica sighed and rose to her feet, casually removing the robe and the towel to climb naked between the cool smooth sheets of the bed. Willy watched mildly interested before removing his own clothes to join her.

"Sorry about the break down. I don't know what came over me," she said, scooting closer.

"It's called shock. To be expected really," he said with a yawn, curling one arm securely around her. "Once we get things wrapped up here, we can head back to England."

Willy noticing that she still wore her engagement ring smiled sleepily, although a chuckle escaped him a moment later.

"What's so funny?" she asked from the edge of sleep.

"Just reflecting on irony. Are you familiar with marital traditions?"

"Not really. How are you familiar with them?"

"Wikipedia - anyway some popular wedding customs are based on marital traditions with a not-so-savory past. By agreeing to marry me, then proceeding to get abducted follows a rough outline of those traditions," Willy explained.

She rolled over to stare at him, "And this amuses you?"

"Not that part. By accepting a ride back in the Grand Wonkavator and me carrying you over the threshold – the coincidences are piling up. It's a great cosmic joke to someone."

"I'm glad my peril amuses you," she sniffed, turning over away from him.

"No it doesn't. But the idea that somehow through this mess that you've managed to come back to me and in some eyes that makes us man and wife – that I do find amusing," he grinned, snuggling closer and spooning her. "Victor has failed. You are here with me – safe and he's sleeping in a puddle of his own urine after I've confronted him – that is very amusing."

They started giggling at the thought and the darkness of the past few days lifted for the moment, allowing them to drift off to sleep in peace.


	58. Chapter 58

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Sorry about the delay – sick kids don't do much to let one write in peace. Warm vomit down the back first thing in the morning though is better than a cup of coffee waking you up. I don't think Starbucks would go for it though.– Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 58**

The sun was warm on the flagstone patio and he luxuriated in the sensation soaking into his aching bones. Long work hours and a grueling schedule made moments like this so much more precious.

The sounds of children playing inside echoed through the open doorway and he had to grin at the outraged scolding as his daughter was caught rummaging the kitchen…again.

The phone rang and he ignored it – tilting his head back and closing his eyes, allowing his thoughts to drift for the moment.

"It's for you. Incidentally, did you tell Lily she could have a Pop Tart?" asked his beloved's melodious tones. She drifted closer, handing him the cordless phone, a playful smirk twisting her lips.

"Not me. Don't let her drag me into the middle of this argument. I think Pop Tarts _should_ count as breakfast, but that's just me." He protested, grabbing the handset from her.

The sounds of arguing children in the kitchen had her scurrying back inside, the smooth lines of her bottom twitching beguilingly under the sundress and he watched her go with a speculative eye – he'd have to follow up on that thought in a bit, but business now.

"Yeah?" he asked whoever was on the other end.

"It's Spencer. How've you been, dove?" came his friend's light tenor.

"Spence! Glad to hear from you. Are you alright? I heard about the attack," he said, sitting upright and draping tattooed arms over his lanky legs.

"We're good for the moment – it looked a lot worse than it was. Listen, have you been watching the news?"

"A little bit. What specifically?"

"Veronica got kidnapped."

Breath caught in his throat. _That pretty girl from the party?_

Spencer continued before he was able to speak, "She's back alright now, but there are still some bad elements floating about and you know how her significant other feels about the media."

He nodded, "I can agree with Willy about that. Surprised the hell out of me when I discovered who I'd been talking to at the party. Not that I don't love hearing your dulcet voice, and seeing that I doubt you would be calling me out of the blue about this, I'm guessing something's up."

Spencer sighed heavily over the phone and he felt a flutter of doubt in the depths of his stomach.

"I need a favor. Could you play decoy with the media to draw the attention away from them for a week or so?"

He winced at the request. His relationship with the media was not cordial at best and now Spencer wanted him to play gazelle for that pack of hyenas?

"I dunno Spence. That's an awfully big favor…" he wheedled.

"I'll throw in a wedding dress. I know you've been thinking about taking the big plunge after watching Reggie and I. Sadly enough, I am taken, so you'll have to do with that lovely woman who finds you strangely attractive."

"Am I getting that predictable?" he asked, swiping a hand across his smiling face.

"No – but she is the mother of your children. You'd be a bastard if you didn't at least make the offer. Rogue that you are, you've got your own honor to answer to."

"Fair enough. I know Vanessa loves your work, and it gets me nookie points for later on. Okay then, I'll do it – but only until next Wednesday, I've got my own business to tend you know." He said, his grin widening at the opportunity for mischief this presented.

"Thank you, I know they'll appreciate it," Spencer said gratefully. "Get a hold of Donna at the studio – she'll have the costume out and ready to go."

"You owe me," he growled and hung up the phone. _Hmmm…the opportunity to play the elusive Chocolatier off the big screen. I can think of half a dozen spots around town to play peek-a-boo with the paparazzi…not to mention it might get me in with Legendary studios as the future Edward Nygma…_

Standing and stretching, Johnny Depp walked inside to where his children sat at the breakfast bar, happily chomping on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches set on plates by his significant other. He snuggled up to Vanessa, kissing her lightly on the neck and enjoying her squirm in delight.

"Vous inquiéteriez-vous pour escorter un confiseur timide pour quelques visites autour de la ville pour les prochains couples des jours?" he whispered into her ear.

She turned in his arms and replied in English, "What are you up to?"

He gave her his best award-winning smirk, "You'll see."

--

While the exhausted couple slept in the next room, Sherman relayed what information he had gathered about Veronica's abductors to Tupik-Ra and Sni-Ki. As the head of Willy's cyber team, he sat before three monitors and two keyboards to ravage the Internet for information. His Matrix t-shirt hung to his knees, but his kung-fu was strong.

"Okay – Here's a satellite image of the area," Sni-Ki said, using his cursor to drag a black and white picture and zooming in so road names appeared. There were three dirt roads in the described area that matched her description. Frowning at the picture he grunted softly to himself, "Damn Google Earth – I'm getting more recent pictures, these are from three months ago."

Sni-Ki opened a new window and set to rapidly typing and flying through a variety of screens, seeing on in particular the lawyer blanched.

Tupik-Ra glanced at the tiny man – Sni-Ki was short even by Oompa Loompa standards, "The DefenseNet? Isn't that illegal?"

"Only if you get caught," Sni-Ki snorted. "Are you going to narc on me?"

Tupik-Ra grinned, "Only if I start getting questions. It'll help if you can get me pictures of Eva Longoria naked."

Two sets of male eyes glazed over at the thought. They quickly snapped out of it and the tiny hacker went to work.

The new images were quickly found and slapped up on the main screen, "Okay! This is more like it – 20 minutes ago. There's the white truck, right were she said it was. Now out of the three roads, all have shacks, but only one has a green port-a-potty."

"Sweet. I'll give the information to the Police when I contact them. Can you get the license number off the truck as well?" Tupik-Ra asked.

The tiny hacker just gave him a scathing look before pushing the doll-sized glasses back up his nose and returning his attention to the screen without comment. Within seconds the screen was zoomed in and Sni-Ki wrote down the tag number on a post-it note before handing it to the taller man.

As the lawyer walked away, Sni-Ki turned his vindictive grin back to the computer screen and brought up the screen he'd been working on. Victor's face, with an expression of wide-eyed surprise had been pasted onto pictures of male models at a gay internet site.

Considering what the large hairy man behind him was doing – he had the right expression.

"No one messes with my boss," Sni-Ki growled, working on pasting another Victor face to a picture involving cross-dressing and a little S&M for good measure.

Sni-Ki quickly fired off several anonymous e-mails to the L.A. tabloids with the link to the site. PhotoShopping like that was a bitch even if hacking the sites were fun – but he was the best at what he did and soon Victor would be swarmed by some of the most aggressive paparazzi in the world asking embarrassing questions.

Meanwhile Tupik-Ra grabbed the phone and his notebook, dialing the task force number in charge of finding the missing woman. The detective who picked up the phone was wary of another crank call at first, but quickly perked up when Tupik-Ra relayed the information.

"Why didn't you call us before picking her up," the detective growled. "It makes tracking down the location more difficult. She's going to have to come in for questioning."

"When she awakens, I will be delighted to pass on your request," Tupik-Ra said in his most haughty Queen's English. "But for now, I wished to pass on what she had told us about where she was held captive. Depending on how quickly you can act, you might actually catch one of the scoundrels."

There was dark muttering on the other end and he grinned at some of the words that leaked through, "Why Detective, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"Location?" the detective asked shortly. Tupik-Ra gave him Veronica's description as well as the physical address they had determined the shack to be at. He also passed on the truck's license plate. "Veronica claims to have smashed her captor in the head with a large pan to make her escape – this is after flinging hot oil in his face mind you, so there's a chance that if he's not at the shack, he will be in a hospital."

"When Ms. Carmichael awakens, would you mind terribly encouraging her to please come down to grace us with a formal statement. We would like to actually meet the woman who we've been slaving away for the past two days to locate," the Detective said with an impressive amount of sarcasm in his voice.

"I will. All joking aside Detective, we really do appreciate your efforts and hard work – even if the victim in question managed to rescue herself. That's only one half of the battle we fight," Tupik-Ra said, making an effort to smooth ruffled feathers. "Now we just have to nail the bastards."

"I agree with you there Mr. Tupik," the man returned.

After he hung up, he scribbled several notes to himself on the notepad. The legal proceedings on the American side of the house were unfamiliar to him and he'd have to do some research to ensure that nothing was left to chance while prosecuting Brahm and his merry mercenaries.

Feeling eyes on his back, he looked up to see L.A. regarding him with a perplexed expression. His heart jumped and suddenly he felt like a flock of birds had taken to flight in his stomach.

"What's up?" he asked, trying for casual.

"I was just getting ready to head out to get Veronica some clothes. We have no idea where her suitcases or anything else is. I know the media's going to want pictures, but what about the Police?" L.A. asked, losing the distant look once he spoke.

Tupik-Ra tapped his chin thoughtfully, "Bag up the clothes she was wearing – I'm sure if American television is anything to go by, the CSI unit will want to look for evidence to support what happened. They want her to make a formal statement – add in questioning and it'll be a couple of days before we can get out of here tangle-free."

The woman nodded, "Alright, enough for about five days, just in case." L.A. hesitated, looking at him thoughtfully, "There's something up with you. You seem…different."

"I'm doing what I was trained to do – maybe that's it. It's not often the lawyer takes the lead in most of the situations Won-Ka gets himself into," He suggested.

"No…you just seem. Larger… more alive," she said.

"Does that bother you?" he asked, getting up to stand closer to her.

L.A. blushed slightly, her thoughts had been taking abrupt turns into the gutter when contemplating Tupik-Ra lately, "No, not at all. I'm just trying to pinpoint what it is."

"Maybe this is it…" he breathed, taking the opportunity to lean down and collect a soft kiss from her.

L.A. sighed happily as Tupik-Ra kissed her. It was like it had been before she grew – her head tipping up at the right angle to devour his lips, his hands coming up to rest at her waist.

Breaking away, she was dazed, "I think I need to get going. I have no idea when they're going to wake and I want to make sure that she's got something clean to put on."

Tupik-Ra grinned that heart-melting smile at her, "Alright, run away for now – but remember, I am a hunter and will eventually find you."

For the first time in a long while, L.A. grinned back a gleam in her eye, "I hope so."

She walked out the door with a flirtatious wink and he had to smile – this was the woman he'd fallen in love with. She'd become so serious and sad when she had not returned to her normal size and it filled his heart with joy to see her flirting with him.

The smile slipped off his face and the fluttering birds returned as he realized that she was growing closer to the realization of what had changed about him. He pulled the candy wrapper from his pocket and glanced down at it.

_Wonka's Stretching Taffey – Oompa Loompa consumption only_

_Lasts 12-18 hours – Reach For The Stars!_

Crumbling the wrapper in his fist, he glanced at the clock with concern. It had in fact been more than 36 hours since he'd eaten the taffy and he had not returned to his normal size.

He hoped his employer would be able to come up with a solution to this problem and fast. If it could be determined what was wrong with him, maybe the same could be said for L.A.

…after a few dates of course.

He wasn't one to turn down an opportunity when it was presented to him.

--

He was falling

Twisted faces of those he'd wronged leered at him from the pulsating walls. He plunged, twisting and helpless into the hellish light below.

High pitched giggling from the devils as they clung to the wall and jeered at his horror. He could feel the heat rising as he fell deeper into what seemed to be a living volcano made up of his victims.

He could see the pale cold visage of Satan above him, the violet eyes like supernovas in the night sky, his sharp white teeth widening in Cheshire cat smile at his plight. That cold smile was the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen and his heart seized in mortal terror.

Screaming in terror, he twisted back toward the burning light ahead. The light grew brighter, but even as his eyes started to boil in their sockets from the heat, he could start to make out details. There was no lava, no molten fire as he expected – instead, a woman seemed to be the source of the luminescence. She shone like the sun.

Bright and terrible she was clothed in flames, her arms wide and welcoming, but a inhuman fury in her eyes. Upon facing such terrible beauty, he wanted to fall before her, begging for forgiveness, for mercy. But her serene expression promised no such relief – his torture would be legendary.

The goddess smiled with malicious glee as he futilily twisted, plunging toward her, he could feel the flames flickering at his skin, the heat causing his skin to burn and peel from the wet muscle underneath. He screamed as he realized how hopeless his fate was as he recognized the woman.

"VERONICA!!"

Victor sat up in his bed, gasping and flinging up a protective hand from the terrible grasp of his nemesis. His heart was pounding in triple time as he heard her siren-like scream as he escaped her clutches.

For a long moment, he cringed weeping like a child, expecting a burning hand to touch him. Then realizing that there was nothing there, he braved a peek above his arms.

There was another scream and he flinched.

He was alone in his bedroom, the sheets torn from their moorings and tossed to the floor. The sun was rising in the sky, his blinds open to the bright rays.

The phone screamed from its bedside perch and he made a convulsive grab just to stop the horrible noise.

"Hello?" he asked, his voice harsh from screaming.

"Mr. Brahm? This is Michael Hofferman from The L.A. Daily Press. Pictures of you have recently been identified on a website with homosexual pornography. Would you care to comment? Also, is there anyone you are currently in a relationship with? Are there any lavender wedding bells in the future?"

"What?...What are you talking about?" Victor mumbled, feeling chilled as the air conditioning kicked on and dried the cold sweat from his body. He was still clad in his clothes from the day before.

"Your picture appeared on as the…um…ridden party. How long have you been out of the closet?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. If you go to press with this crap, I'll sue you for slander," Victor snapped and slammed the phone back into the cradle.

Still shaking from the intensity of the dream, he sat up and discovered to his embarrassment and shock that he'd lost control of his bladder in his sleep. The damp clothing had chaffed during his nightmare and now a nasty rash had developed in his crotch and inner thighs.

Grimacing, he rose and stripped on his way to the shower.

What the hell had happened last night? He wondered as he stepped into the shower. He remembered lunch at El Duche in Hollywood Hills, and getting home and seeing that hot little piece in the kitchen, but nothing else after that other than nightmares.

He shuddered again at the intensity of his dreams – nothing like that had ever happened before and he prayed that it never would again.

If nothing else, the avenging goddess in his dream convinced him that getting rid of Veronica Carmichael as soon as possible was a necessity. Victor's libido in the matter had scrambled off to hide in the corner after that nightmare and just making her disappear forever was number on his to-do list - no playing, just take care of business.

Toweling off, he hobbled to the bedroom to grab the bedside phone. He dialed the number off a small slip of paper and waited for the phone to pick up.

"Que?" asked a deep male voice.

"It's me. Get rid of her," Victor commanded shortly, "I don't care where or how, just get rid of her."

"Problem – she's already gone," answered the voice.

"What?" Victor breathed incredulous.

"She escaped this morning – knocked the shit out of Luis and stole his truck. He got picked up by the cops about twenty minutes ago and taken to Cedar-Sinai."

"Dump this phone. You've got half the payment – take it and make yourself scarce," Victor ordered and hung up the phone.

_Oh shit._

The phone rang again and he saw Raoul's number on the ID. He picked up the phone and corralled what little composure he had left.

"Good morning Victor. You've got a 1 p.m. meeting with Mr. Slugworth this afternoon at my hotel in conference room "C". We can't wait to hear what you've got for us," Raoul purred.

Victor broke out in a cold sweat, this could not be happening right now.

"I...I'm coming down with a nasty bug, Raoul. Could I delay until tomorrow?" he sputtered.

"No. Mr. Slugworth's time is much more valuable than yours. Be there or consider the matter closed for good," Raoul's self-satisfied voice was cold and felt like a tomb slamming shut to Victor.

"Alright – I'll be there, just expect a lot of bathroom breaks," he managed in a faint voice before hanging up.

_Double shit._

At least this was something he'd planned for. He opened the bedside nightstand and pulled out a plain wire-bound notebook. Inside were recipes and ideas picked up from his employees over the years. He thumbed through and found a section of candy ideas borrowed from Veronica herself. Nothing she could lay claim to, just good ideas mentioned in passing before she'd shut down on him.

He rose and walked into his closet to dress, wincing at the hot sting of the rash between his legs.

The phone rang as he dressed and listened as the machine kicked on and he heard yet another reporter asking about some kind of porn site that he'd made an appearance on.

Curious, he exited the bedroom and booted up the sleek laptop on his desk. He clicked into a search engine and entered the site to see what the hell the reporter had been talking about.

Victor's eyes bulged in horror and disbelief, oddly mirroring the expression on the screen. On the front page was a man wearing his face in nothing but leather chaps, taking it up the ass by a large lumberjack-looking man with ugly prison tattoos.

Victor's scream of rage echoed through the empty house.


	59. Chapter 59

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Real life is a real bitch – how dare she keep interfering with my writing! Support my writing fix by sending me donations so I can buy my little cabin in the woods to do nothing but write. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 59**

Lowell Cummings leaned against the building across the street from the Factory, smoking his cigarette and keeping a jaundiced eye on the street traffic. He'd been waiting outside for hours and there wasn't a single hint that his vigil would be ending any time soon.

"Fancy a crisp?" asked Mike Farnsborogh, fellow photographer and rival.

"Nah – waiting for a sandwich delivery," Lowell grunted, waving off the marmite-flavored treat.

They watched as another truck with the Wonka markings rolled by, the dark face inside not even glancing at them.

"Look, Nigel's having a go," said Mike, watching as one of the other reporters broke off from the waiting group and darted between the gates as the truck passed through.

Even from this distance, they heard the faint whistle and thud as something hit Nigel square in the chest, knocking him to his bottom in the middle of the gateway.

"That's going to smart," Lowell commented, as an ominous whistle blew again and Nigel scrambled out from between the closing gates to the relative safety of the sidewalk.

Trespassing was not taken lightly by Wonka.

Nigel trotted up to the group with an embarrassed smile on his face. He had ears that could qualify him for a free pass to Disneyland if he was in the States.

"What flavor did you get this time?" asked Mike. It was tradition among those who hunted Wonka to share the spoils.

Pulling a large wad of candy off his jumper with a wince, he sniffed and pinched off a small wad of the bright red mass. Popping it in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully, his expression brightened, "Cherry!"

There was a cheer and the wad was pulled apart and shared by the waiting paparazzi. Nigel winced and rubbed his chest – a bruise was starting to form, but it was considered a war wound.

"Remember when Harry made a go of it? Blighter thought he was all that since he'd been covering the Yanks in Afghanistan. Bragged that he knew what to do when facing enemy fire," Nigel mused, leaning against the building.

"Grape wasn't it?" Mike asked, trying to remember. The man in question had zigged and zagged pretty impressively, but had gotten nailed by the candy blaster in the end - right in the head knocking him cold.

"Yeah – although it hit him in the ear and he complained about ringing for months after. Got to file Worker's Comp for it though – gets a pretty penny for his troubles." Lowell said, dropping is cigarette butt and crushing it under his heel.

"Tried filing for some sort of claim against Wonka too, I hear," said a voice standing next to Lowell with a high tenor American accent.

_Bloody tourist_, thought Lowell nastily.

"Never went anywhere – Wonka is quite clear on what his boundaries are. Got it figured to the centimeter," he said, not bothering to look.

The man standing next to him shrugged, "Hey, got to know your limits, you play, you pay, gotta pay the piper – you know, all that jazz?"

"Yeah – still, the bastard's gotta come out sometime. I'd like to make that nice commission for a decent picture," Mike mused.

"Really? Is that all you want?" said the man standing next to him, leaning against the building casually, amusement plain in his voice.

"Of course, why else are we out here lurking?" asked Mike in irritation. He turned to glance at the man and his eyes widened in shock.

Lowell glanced in the same direction and felt his jaw drop.

Wonka was standing next to him, relaxed as could be, absently twirling his cane, large goggle sunglasses covering his eyes, trademark top hat and Edwardian frock in place.

"I figured you had nothing else to do," he giggled, looking at the stunned faces of the photographers. Grinning his trademark unearthly white smile, he waved and turned to sprint off around the corner.

A cry rose from the crowd and they set off after him.

The mob chased the merry figure for three blocks, until he darted around the corner and vanished. They pulled to a stop – the slower members panting heavily as they glanced around in astonishment.

"Where'd he go?" asked Lowell.

Behind the secret entrance, Johnny had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep his laughter from being heard. The slim figure of a teenage boy grinned at him with glee as he heard the aggravated cursing on the other side as the mob broke up.

He slipped the goggles off his nose and glanced at Wonka's heir with bright brown eyes, "Oh that was fun – I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed messing with the press."

Charlie chuckled, "I'm sure we've got security footage of their faces. Want a copy?"

"Oh yeah!"

Charlie was taken aback at how much this American actor resembled his mentor. When L.A. had called to explain the plan as relayed by Spencer, he'd had his doubts, but the following performance had convinced him.

"Care to make a couple more appearances around town before breaking for the day?" Johnny asked.

"Sure – how about a supermarket across town?" Charlie asked, giggling at the image of Willy pushing a cart around the store, nonchalantly reading labels and comparing nutritional information with bystanders.

"Come with me this time. It'll add legitimacy," Johnny said eagerly.

Charlie grinned at the man, "Only if you promise to sign my Pirate poster for Mum – she's a huge fan"

Johnny rolled his eyes, looking more like Wonka at that moment than Charlie would care to admit, "Okay fine – one signature for the raving fangirl."

"Let's go."

--

"_She's gone," said his father's deep voice flatly, looking down at the small dark-haired boy by his side._

_Willy looked at the intimidating figure of his father in disbelief, "But what happened? Where did she go?"_

_A man's laughter floated through his mind, careless and cold._

"_Veronica?" he called, now a man, looking up and down a dark street._

"_She's dead," said his father._

_He could see a crumpled figure laying just outside one of the pools of light on the dark street, one hand outstretched, a glowing ivory sculpture with a delicate curl of fingers in an ever growing pool of dark ruby blood._

"_Veronica?" he whispered, afraid of the response._

_A quite breeze ruffled the short hair at his brow, blowing gently across his face._

_He approached the collapsed figure, seeing worn scarred tissue across the palm and finger pads of the outstretched hand. The female hand wore a silver and rose ring, swirled around like peppermint and flickering dully in the cold light like the dying embers of a fire. The pool of blood crept closer to extinguish its glow._

"_Too late, Candy man," sneered Victor's voice._

_The hand twitched and Willy fell to his knees to collect her body and drag it into the light. As he did, the circle of light began to close in, drawing in the deep shadows surrounding them._

_Veronica's wide eyes were glazed with pain and blood trickled out of her nose and split lip. Her blackened eyes were puffed nearly shut and he could hear her wheezing breath growing weaker._

_Moaning in helpless despair, he cradled her close, trying to will his own strength into her cold body._

_Another breeze ruffled his hair and for a moment, it felt like warm fingers running soothingly across his scalp._

"_Willy?" Veronica croaked in a broken voice. He could see livid bruises across her throat where Victor had tried to choke the life out of her. The circle of light slowly shrank around them and he could feel the life ebb from her body as it did._

"_Hang on – We'll get out of here and get you help," he said frantically stroking her sticky blood-matted hair away from her face._

"_Too late…run," she whispered, her eyes widened in horror and he felt an evil presence closing in on them as the darkness approached._

"_She's gone Willy, let her go," the emotionless voice of his father commanded._

"_Veronia, wait…stay with me. Please!" Willy sobbed, hugging her closer and hearing her whimper in pain as he did. He could feel the hot trail of tears from his eyes to dot her broken features. The dull pulse of the ring was eaten by the shadows._

_The soothing breeze was warm and he could feel actual fingers stroking across his face, trying to draw him away from his broken love._

_The light was just around their faces now, closing in rapidly and she said soundlessly, "Willy…run!"_

_Cold laughter echoed around them as the light dwindled to a pinpoint and extinguished. Veronica found the breath to scream and she was snatched from his arms by the darkness._

"_VERONICA!" he screamed._

"Willy…shhh! You're alright. I'm here," he heard her voice whisper around him. The warm fingers across his brow drew him from the shadows and back into the living world.

Willy opened his eyes to see her concerned hazel ones studying his face with frightened concern. Seeing that he was awake, she hugged him closer and stroked the top of his head, cradling him against her.

"Thank God. You wouldn't wake up," she said softly.

Realizing it was just a dream, he collapsed, feeling overwhelmed by the relief and cried. Veronica patiently held him and let a few tears of her own trickle down her cheek. He shook with the tension as he fought the tears, but eventually he calmed and was able to look up at her.

"You were gone. He killed you." Willy breathed at last, sniffling noisily.

"I know. It was a nightmare," she said stroking the sticky hair from his forehead and smiling at him fondly.

Willy sighed deeply, "I hate nightmares."

"Me too," she said in an odd voice.

Willy glanced at her and clutched her closer. He could see the bloodshot eyes and haunted expression – probably the same that graced his own features. "You too," he said, not making it a question.

She sighed and pulled the blankets a bit higher, "Yes. I've got a bit more experience than you dealing with them I believe. I woke up first and had just gotten back into bed when you started whimpering. You made the strangest noise – like a long drawn out whine or something similar. Didn't take much deduction to figure out what was going on."

Willy rolled over onto his back and laid one hand across his brow, mentally banishing the remains of the nightmare back to his subconscious, "Gotta tell Sherman to lay off the tea – that was _waaay_ to intense."

The sumptuous suite of the hotel was dim and quiet. Thick blinds blocked out the early afternoon sunlight and only the faintest murmur of voices could be heard from the rest of the cottage.

Veronica ran one hand through her hair with an expression of disgust, "Yech! I need a shower." She threw back from the covers and rose, reaching over to pull at his hand, "Come on – you too. Nothing banishes bad thoughts like hot water and company."

Willy let himself be dragged into the large bathroom. The ornate bathroom wasn't as nice as his back home, but it was still better than a Holiday Inn. There was a large multi-head shower stall lined with white and blue marble. Veronica reached in and played with the nobs for a moment trying to get the water going.

He cheered watching her growing annoyance – too many levers and knobs made it difficult to figure out. She finally threw up her hands in frustration and indicated that he should give it a whirl.

Leaning over he gave the main lever a hard twist followed by pulling two knobs to start warm water from spraying from three nozzles. Willy gave her a smug look as she rolled her eyes and muttered, "Smartass."

"Mumbler," he returned nudging her into the shower.

They scrubbed under the hot spray, glancing at each other occasionally as if to assure themselves that the other was actually there. Veronica grabbed his shoulders and turned him so he was facing the spray, picking up the loofa and giving his back a good scrub as he shook the dark strands out of his face with the spray. He smiled at the gesture. The last time anyone had scrubbed his back, he was three.

He felt her arms creep under his to snuggle up to his back and he clasped her hands in his and just enjoyed the warm water and her comforting embrace from behind.

"Luis was stalking me…I was running through a maze and couldn't find my way out," Veronica said suddenly. "I could hear you yelling for me – and I was yelling back, trying to find you and tell you to watch out for Luis. I head a wet thud and I turned a corner to have you fall on me, your throat cut. Your blood was so hot against my skin. It was your eyes that got me though – you were looking at me like it was all my fault."

"You had been stabbed and beaten to a pulp like Reggie. I was trying to save you but the light went out and the darkness ripped you out of my arms," Willy said simply. "My father…there were memories of my Dad telling me that my Mom was dead mixed in there too…"

They paused, taking comfort from each other, Willy turned to take her into his embrace, the shower beating a comforting tattoo against them. He glanced down at her hands and saw that they were still bandaged, "Aren't you supposed to keep those dry?"

She snorted against his chest and he felt her smile, "Sue me. I needed this more ….we needed this more at the moment."

Willy reached around and shut off the water with one hand, keeping the other wrapped around her thin shoulders," I think we're both done with sleeping for now. If it hadn't been for Sherman's tea, I never would have crashed at all." He gave a delicate shudder, "Hotel sheets….ew!"

Veronica laughed weakly – Willy's germaphobia was well known. It spoke depths of his exhaustion to even sleep or shower in a strange place.

"Thank you for being here," she whispered as she opened the door and handed him a towel before selecting one for herself. "I'm sorry that you had to come under these circumstances, but I am glad you are here."

"I should have come in the first place," he said guiltily. "You really did need me, but I was so reluctant to leave the factory, I didn't listen to what you were actually saying."

She leaned up to kiss him tenderly, "I love you Willy."

"Love you too, Starshine."

They dried off and he watched in amusement at her movements to wrap her hair in a turban style on top of her head, "How do you females do that?"

She grabbed a hand towel and pulled his head down so he was facing the floor. A few swift movements later and he wore a similar turban on the top of his head.

He blinked at her smug expression, "Oh."

Veronica left him to his grooming and returned to the bedroom to pull on the discarded robe. Seeing that there was nothing else for her to wear, there was little choice in the matter.

There was a knock on the door and L.A. peeped her head in, "Decent?"

"Depends on who's asking," Veronica responded with a grin. L.A. gave a relieved sigh and collected a hug from the older woman.

"You scared me – don't do it again," she scolded.

Veronica looked abashed, "Yeah, well. Wasn't my idea, I assure you."

L.A. held up paper bags from top name stores, "I grabbed some clothes seeing that we have no idea where your luggage ended up. Enough for a few days anyway until we can get home. The police want you to come down to give a statement. Tupik-Ra passed along the information you gave Sherman and they managed to pick up one man already."

Veronica froze. One man in custody? Which one?

Shaking her head she slapped herself, _never mind – I'll find out at the station._

She collected the bags from the Oompa Loompa woman, "Alright. What time is it anyway?"

"Almost noon. You two didn't sleep that long considering. Are you hungry?"

Veronica nodded vigorously. Her stomach had given up and was gnawing on her spine at this point.

The door to the bathroom opened and Willy strolled out. He'd shaved and was rubbing his hair dry, humming under his breath. The towel hung low around his hips showing off his muscled physique. Normally modest to a fault, this was a hormone-chargin display. Veronica had to admit, he'd rarely looked more toothsome and judging from L.A's expression, she thought so too.

She and L.A. exchanged a mischievous glance before L.A. deliberately coughed softly to draw attention to the fact that the Choclatier was not alone in the room.

Willy yelped and held the towel he'd been drying his hair with protectively in front of his chest while clutching at the other around his waist. Wide violet eyes stared in shock at the bemused women while his mahogany hair stuck up at odd angles from his scalp.

"Do you mind?" he shrieked darting back into the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

She couldn't remember a time when laughter had felt so good.


	60. Chapter 60

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Okay folks, looking at what's coming up - I need feedback to decide Victor's fate. I'm letting you the readers guide me on what happens to the man. Drop me a note casting your vote in the "Reviews" and vote for what you'd like to do to the SOB! _– _Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 60**

Beige, vomit green and migraine-inducing yellow were the predominant impressions of the hotel conference room to Victor's aching head. The cheap interior design by some high-minded decorator was probably intended to be cutting edge and modern, but just came across as tacky and coma-inducing.

There was a group of about five people gathered around the conference table. At the head sat Arthur Slugworth, founder and president of Slugworth candies. Raoul sat to his right with a bored expression on his face and various flunkies from Accounting, Research and Development, and Marketing in near identical suits waited with expectant faces.

Victor took a deep breath and relaxed. He bullshitted experts before – and thanks to taking extensive notes while watching Veronica, he had a solid foundation upon which to build his story. He shifted uncomfortably, his tender skin still irritated and inflamed no matter how much powder he'd used.

"Mr. Brahm – we've taken quite a risk with you. I think it's time you repaid us for our generosity," rumbled Slugworth. The man was 70 if he was a day, confident in his power and position.

"Sir. Alright, I know that you have a tradition of stiff competition with Wonka in producing new products, either undercutting or going to production quicker than he has with similar products," Victor started, flipping open his notes and keeping his eyes steady on Slugworth.

The old man flushed angrily at the implication that he was nothing but a Wonka knock-off and he had to talk quickly to cut off the bluster, "I'm giving you the chance to produce a product that isn't even on his radar screen. Something essential to everyday life and so overlooked in its common usage that you'll hit yourself for not seeing it earlier."

Slugworth held his tongue for the moment, but his eyes still glimmered piggishly with resentment, waiting to hear the pitch before ripping Victor apart.

Victor pulled out of his folder pictures of various flatwear – plates, cups and other serving bowls.

The people around the table glanced at the pictures without interest.

Raoul grabbed a picture and sneered at Victor, "What's the big deal? We make candy, not pottery."

Victor sneered back, fed up by the man's attitude, "Glad to hear it. Because that so-called pottery in the picture isn't glass – it's candy."

A patent lie – nothing like the pictures had been produced, but the theory was sound.

Still, it snagged the imagination of the people around the table and they began to murmur to each other and take a closer look at the pictures. Only Slugworth kept his eyes on Victor, staring at him with a predatory gleam in his dark eyes.

"You get the tree-huggers because the plates are edible and don't go into a landfill, you get families since it's disposable platewear – taking the place of paper plates and the added benefit of getting dinner and dessert in one go – and you get the metro-set because you can change your dinnerware as often as you change your underwear," Victor said to Slugworth in triumph.

The sour-looking lady from Research and Development asked, "How do you keep whatever is on the plate from leaking into the candy and marring the flavor or making the whole thing into a soggy mess?"

"Non-pervasive food binders," Victor said, glancing at the notes from Veronica's work. "It's a non-digestible all-natural food varnish that harmlessly passes through the digestive system. If you market it right, you could pass it off as adding more fiber to the diet – a nutritional additive."

"What's the cost per unit?" asked the bald man from accounting.

"Whatever your current cost is for making that candy jewelry – it's a similar process. Probably lower since all you do is press the forms rather than assemble anything," Victor said calmly, covering the fact that he had no idea what the cost would be.

Slugworth sat back and the rest of the table fell silent to look at the man expectantly. Victor knew that regardless of what the flunkies thought, this was the man he had to convince.

"How did you come up with this idea and develop the process?" Slugworth asked slowly, watching Victor like a lion watched young gazelles at play.

"Probably the same way you came up with your ideas and processes," Victor said, meeting the older man's eyes, daring him to push the topic further. It was no secret that the greatest of Slugworth's ideas were stolen right from under Wonka's nose before the factory was closed down.

Slugworth grinned like a shark, appreciating Victor's daring. The young man reminded him of himself at that age," Fair enough, let's cut the crap. What's your source?"

Victor nodded at the man deferentially, accepting the challenge to own up, "A former employee who is currently working with Wonka."

Raoul scowled and started to sputter in protest even as Slugworth's eyes lit up with malicious glee, "Sir, this might be considered intellectual property and we could face a lawsuit…"

"I've got notes here indicating the timeframe that this concept was developed, it's her own damn fault if she tries to claim it now – it's mine," Victor snarled, shooting the lawyer a vicious glare.

Slugworth chuckled and Raoul fell silent, "I like this kid – he's got brass balls. I like the fact of using her work to stick it to Wonka as well – especially if it's true that she can't claim it. There's a nice irony there that I can appreciate."

Raoul swallowed his protest, knowing that he'd lost, "Very well, sir. If Mr. Brahm would care to work with me to patent the process and the product, we'll ensure that Wonka cannot move in on the development."

Victor chimed in with a wink at Slugworth, "Actually, if you can use my notes as a basis of when the idea was developed, we could claim trademark infringement and they'd have to drop the Berry Bling and Candy Globes as well. After all, we can't have them using the process that I so clearly developed, right?"

Slugworth looked tickled at the prospect of making his most hated competitor have to drop a highly lucrative line of products due to legal conflicts. He inclined his head at Victor, sharing a smile that reached neither of their eyes,

"Hang onto that notebook Mr. Brahm, it's about to make you a whole lot of money."

--

The Los Angeles Police Department central headquarters was located in a sedate city center. The tall 14 story white building was a shining spire to law and justice in this grimy city.

_Too bad it was missing a heart_, Willy thought to himself as they marched up the stairs.

Veronica was apprehensive walking in with Willy on one side and Tupik-Ra on the other. The Chocolatier, clad in a crimson frock coat with matching band on his hat and goggles covering his eyes looked up at the tall building and gulped nervously. Flashbacks of the horrible visit to the Met Police back home didn't help his jitters any.

They entered the austere building and the calm atmosphere inside was a startling change from previous experiences. A young man in police blues was working the front desk, the flat gaze took in the strange group without hesitation, "May I help you?"

"Detective Maza?" asked Tupik-Ra.

"Fourth floor, take the elevator up, I'll let you through," The officer said, pointing to a bank of elevators with one door opening and disgorging a group of people into the lobby. Tupik-Ra thanked the man and they walked over to the elevators. Once inside, Willy immediately noticed that there were only two buttons present – one to close doors and the other for a fire alarm, no floor buttons.

And I thought I was paranoid, he thought to himself.

The young man waited until they were inside and sent the elevator up. Tinny muzak played over the speaker and he had to cringe at the bad rendition of "Yesterday." Torture could be a subtle thing. He was ready to admit to anything by the time they reached the fourth floor as long as he could escape the horrible music.

A Hispanic man in a tan jacket and khaki pants waited by the elevator as it opened, "Ms. Carmichael?"

Veronica nodded and he could see that she was shaking slightly and pale despite her outward poise.

"I'm Detective Maza. Would you come with me please?" he gestured for them to follow him and Willy just knew there was going to be a small room with metal chairs and a sturdy Formica table with a large one-way mirror going to be involved somehow.

Surprisingly, it was a small conference room, well lit from a large plate glass window – bright and cheery. There was a pitcher and several glasses waiting along with a woman wearing rumpled clothing – she had short sandy colored hair and had her jacket removed showing the shoulder holster and weapon hanging from her left side.

"This is my partner Detective Samuel. D.A. Sinclair is supposed to be here in a moment. His office is on the tenth floor. Please, take a seat," Maza said, with a friendly smile.

Willy pulled a seat for Veronica and took the one to her immediate right leaving the left for Tupik-Ra.

"We're glad that you are safe. It must have been a trying time for you," said Samuel sympathetically.

Veronica nodded, but said nothing – intimidated and thrown off balance once again.

The door opened and a tall man with dark curly hair and a navy blue suit entered, juggling a hot cup of coffee and several folders with an organizer, "Ms. Carmichael? I'm Jack Sinclair. Nice to finally meet you in person." He set the coffee down and shook her hand.

Willy felt a surge of jealousy as the man skimmed her from head to foot with a carefully appreciative eye. Admittedly the clothes that L.A. had found in soft green tweed set off her coloring and fit her slender body wonderfully – but there also had to be something said about not being so bloody _obvious _about it.

"We're sorry that you were kidnapped, and applaud your resilience and ingenuity making your escape," Maza said politely. "We'd like to get your story if possible. Do you mind if we record it?"

Veronica shook her head.

The small handheld digital recorder was turned on and the interrogation began.

Willy held her hand through most of it, and ignored the questioning glances shot by the Detectives during the recitation. They made her repeat the story three times before digging in with the questions.

"Why didn't you immediately call the police once you escaped?" asked Maza.

"It didn't occur to me. I just called the first number that popped into my head," she said carefully.

"And that was Mr. Wonka's cell number."

"Yes."

"Why call Mr. Wonka? At that point, for all you knew he was still in Britain, unable to come to your aid."

"I needed to hear his voice. I was shaken and hurt and needed to hear him."

"Mr. Wonka why are you here? I understand that you were in Britain last time we checked," Sinclair asked sardonically, shooting the flamboyantly dressed Chocolatier a glance.

"I was making my own preparations to join Veronica when I got news of her abduction," Willy said primly, reading the D.A.'s dark eyes and not liking his implications.

"So you managed to make it here in under 4 hours?" Sinclair asked sarcastically, not believing him.

_He doesn't know me very well does he?_ Willy giggled mentally.

"Two actually, there was a bit of trouble over the desert I had to shake off first," Willy said with a straight face.

He now had everyone's attention. Tupik-Ra was struggling to maintain his composure and hide his grin. He loved it when Won-Ka messed with the straights.

"Two hours…from England?" asked Samuel doubtfully.

"Yup," he said, popping the last syllable.

"How is that possible – have you managed to build a transporter?" Maza asked, raising an eyebrow. They had the man neatly trapped with no alibi to be seen.

"Technically yes…although I used the Grand Wonkavator on Mach 3 and low Earth orbit to make good time. I could have cut it under two hours if it hadn't been for NORAD picking me up on re-entry and sending F-22s out of Nellis after me. It was all just a misunderstanding really."

There was a mass blink at the strange man and Veronica had to turn away and he felt her arm shaking as she did her best to repress her laughter at their company's expressions.

"Mr. Wonka has…alternate means of transport at his disposal," Tupik-Ra said calmly. "NASA has him on their records."

Shaking his head Maza returned to their original point, "Anyway – you were her to support her. When Ms. Carmichael called you, why didn't you notify the police to pick her up? Is this a service you provide all your employees?"

Ignoring the sarcasm, Willy slowly pulled off the sunglasses, folded them and put them in an inner pocket inside his coat. He folded his hands on the table before leveling a cold glare at the detective.

"Actually it would be if any other of my employees called me after getting abducted. I didn't call you guys after getting the call from Veronica because I was a bit more concerned about the safe return of my fiancée rather than protocol at that point."

"Fiancee?" Samuel pounced on that proclamation.

Veronica nodded and held up the hand with her ring on it. Realizing that her re-bandaged hands hid the ring from view, she peeled back a few layers of gauze to show them the ring.

"Well, congratulations!" Sinclair said surprised.

Samuel and Maza seemed a little more subdued asking questions after that. Willy figured that they were professionally irritated at him for stealing their thunder when picking Veronica up after her escape, but they were apparently willing to forgive under the circumstances.

"Would you be willing to see if you could identify your captor in a line-up?" asked Maza, wrapping up the interview.

Veronica blanched, shooting a panicked stare at Willy.

"You'll be behind a one-way mirror and he won't be able to see you," the detective added seeing her fear.

"He'll be able to figure it out pretty damn quick, won't he," she said absently.

"If you wish to press forward with charges, we need a positive ID," Sinclair said firmly.

Veronica closed her eyes and squeezed her hands together. Willy draped a comforting arm across her shoulders waiting patiently for her decision.

"Alright," she said quietly.

While Samuel was on the phone down to the holding cells, Sinclair guided them to the elevators and down to the basement where they were shown a small dark room with a window facing another area.

A row of Hispanic men filed in one side of the area – seven in all. Four had bandages in various areas around their heads.

It wasn't hard to pick Luis out of the line-up. The bandages covering the right side of his face didn't hide the snake dead eyes or the look of sullen menace.

"Number two," Veronica declared decisively. There was no hesitation in her voice.

"Are you sure? Take your time and look over each," Sinclair said.

"I'm sure. Luis is number two – I'd recognize that bastard anywhere," she said harshly.

Sinclair said, "The witness has identified number two as her captor – get them out of here."

"I'll have to get back with you for a trial date, but it'll be about three to six months with the way the system is backed up before he'll go to trial," Sinclair said absently as he wrote rapidly in his notebook.

Veronica sagged at the news and he hugged her close. More waiting to prosecute those who were attacking her. What was with these people?

Willy whispered in her ear, "Patience. It'll happen, we just need to wait a little."

She nodded tiredly and he could see how things were weighing on her.

"Listen, if we're done here I think we'd like to go home," Willy said firmly.

"Alright…we'll get together again tomorrow…" the D.A. sighed, picking up his notebook and sliding the pen into his pocket.

"I mean back to England."

"But…"

Tupik-Ra stepped in, raising himself to his full height. Willy was startled to not that the Oompa Loompa lawyer was as tall as he was, "Unless you have a legal reason to hold my clients?"

Sinclair sighed, running his hand through his short dark hair, "Technically no – there isn't a reason for you to stay in L.A. As long as you are willing to return for persecution and trial phases."

"Sure – it worked out so well last time," Veronica said sarcastically – showing a glimmer of her true fire for the first time since entering the intimidating building.

"Ms. Carmichael…Veronica," Sinclair pleaded, embarrassed.

She held up a hand in forbearance, "Alright, I take it back. I will return to testify, but I would like to explore alternate options of testimony from home. For some reason I don't feel safe here anymore."

He nodded, accepting the criticism, "We will."

They parted company and were escorted back to the elevators. Sinclair rocked on his heel, hands in the pockets of his trousers, "By the way Ms. Carmichael, I've got an invitation to pass on to you. A few of Brahm's former employees wanted me to pass on to you a standing invitation to give them a call. Although the case fell through, they still want to touch base to keep track of his movements."

None of the men missed her shudder of fear and haunted look.

"Alright, I'll take the information. I guess it's better if we stand together," she said softly, staring at the floor.

The elevator arrived with a ding and the doors opened. Tupik-Ra turned to the D.A. and shook his hand firmly, "I'm sorry things haven't worked out as first anticipated, but I do look forward to working with you in the future."

The doors closed and the horrible music was playing "Memories" this time.

"That's wretched," Veronica muttered, shooting an irritated glance at the speaker set into the ceiling.

Willy found himself humming along for a moment before Veronica swatted his arm, "Ow."

Tupik-Ra seemed to be a bit nervous in the small space and shot nervous glances over at Willy, shuffling his feet and playing with the briefcase at his side during the agonizing long rise to the first floor.

"What?" the Chocolatier snapped, not able to stand the Oompa Loopa's fidgeting any longer. Veronica jumped slightly at the noise.

"Um….Forgive me Won-Ka, but I need to bring something to your attention," Tupik-Ra said, glancing around nervously as if expecting someone to jump out of the imitation woodwork at them.

"Yes?" Willy asked, gesturing for the man to continue.

"It's about the Stretching Taffey…"

"If you need another dose, don't bother before we go home. As soon as we get to the hotel, we're packing up and getting the heck out of this crazy town," Willy said, pulling out his glasses and polishing the lenses with a soft cloth.

"Actually, I've got plenty of doses left…I've only take one since getting here." Tupik-Ra admitted.

Willy's hand paused in its movements and Veronica was confused about the concerned stare that he was giving the lawyer.

"One dose….but…" Willy started and stopped. "Do you have the wrapper?" he demanded with new urgency.

Tupik-Ra pulled the small wax wrapped from his pocket and Willy snatched it, holding it up to the light to read the small print.

"You should have returned to normal more than 24 hours ago…one dose only should last 12-18 hours," he muttered, squinting at the near microscopic writing near the edge of the wrapper.

"L.A. is the only other Oompa Loompa to have taken a dose and not returned to normal, and she had discarded the wrapper..Ah HA!" he crowed pointing to one corner of the wrapper with a purple-latex clad finger, "It's passed the expiration date! Call the others quickly – no one else is to use the stretching taffy!"

"What about him?" Veronica asked, seeing the lawyer pull out his cell phone with a shaking hand.

"I might be able to reverse the effects. Part of the reason I couldn't narrow things down with L.A. was because the wrapper was gone. That was the only clue I had. Now that I have a specific date, I can double check my recipe and the calculations and might be able to counteract the taffy," He said excitedly, his violet eyes gleaming.

Tupik-Ra sighed in relief as he passed the instructions on to whoever had picked up the phone on the other end. He snapped the phone shut, returning the phone to his pocket before bowing to Willy, "You have my thanks. I was worried about getting back to normal."

"Oh, there's no guarantee about that," Willy said cheerfully, oblivious to Tupik-Ra's look of horror, "I just have a better idea of where to go from here to reverse the effects."

Veronica patted the man on the back, "Don't worry – he'll do his best."

Tupik-Ra shot a look of irritation at the humming Chocolatier as they finally arrived at the first floor.

They passed out of the lobby and back to the car where L.A. was waiting. The dark-haired woman was listening to the radio with an enraptured expression and wide grin. She looked mildly guilty as they climbed in, but didn't shut off the station.

It was some sort of news report.

"_Willy Wonka sightings are up around Britain – reports have him visiting a supermarket and comparing various cans of baked beans with surprised shoppers with his apprentice Charlie Bucket. This runs contrary to other reports of Wonka sightings in California on the other side of the globe – although those reports have been largely disclaimed at the moment. What is the reclusive confectioner up to now?"_

L.A. snickered at the report as she navigated her way through traffic much to the confusion from her passengers.


	61. Chapter 61

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. I'm starting to get some good feedback about what should happen to Victor. All are plausible so it's giving me ideas. Drop me a note casting your vote in the "Reviews" and get as creative as you want. So far the funniest I've gotten was a note saying that Sni-Ki should hack his medical records while going in for plastic surgery ends up with gender reassignment instead. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 61**

While the thought of returning home quickly was a good one – the reality of trying to get everyone organized and into the Wonkavator was hopeless.

"Sni-Ki! Wrap it up and let's go," barked Orville, balancing one of the travel crates the electronics gear was packed into.

"Yeah. Just a mo'," The small Oompa Loompa was perched on a stool at the breakfast nook, crouched over his keyboard and typing furiously. He had a wide grin and occasionally giggled in a disturbing way, "Ownage! Total ownage!"

Orville and Sherman exchanged concerned glances.

"What are you doing?" asked Sherman.

The blue light of the screen reflected eerily off of Sni-Ki's glasses, "Oh, just ensuring our friend Victor gets a little going away gift...or five."

The two men shrugged and continued carrying out the equipment while the hacker cackled over his keyboard.

Willy and Veronica were outside, glancing inside the Grand Wonkavator with dubious expression.

"Okay – we managed to get it all to fit in here before, but now there's not enough room," Willy said apologetically.

Orville and a team of workers piled the last of the crates up to fit neatly between the top of the stack and the ceiling, leaving cramped floorspace for the remaining members of the tribe and their employer.

It was going to take a game of human Tetris to get everyone inside.

Veronica shook her head, "L.A. and Tupik-Ra traveled commercially, and so did I. There's not going to be enough room for everyone."

"I'm not leaving you behind," he said stubbornly.

He brightened suddenly, "Okay, new plan – Orville, you and the rest of the tribe pile in and head home. You've got a flight window in about 45 minutes with FAA and NORAD clearance. I can program in the course. We'll just have to arrange for some conventional transportation for the taller folk."

"But…" Sherman protested, not at all comfortable traveling in the Grand Wonkavator without its creator.

"Relax! It's harmless! Just don't jump around too much or you might destabilize it during flight and plunge to a fiery death – or hyperventilate and use up all of the oxygen before you descend," Willy said cheerfully, ignoring the looks of horror shot in his direction. "I understand oxygen deprivation is a good way to go – you get all light-headed and giggly then just go to sleep…for good."

Orville rolled his eyes at the wide-eyed shaman – nice time for the shrink to discover a fear of flying!

"I've taken it for test flights, I can drive it with no problems Sher-Man-Ra," he said soothingly, ignoring Willy's giggles.

"Besides, it's not the flight that kills you – it's the impact with the ground that leaves a smoking crater," Willy said helpfully.

Veronica tugged the laughing Chocolatier away from the small group, "That's not funny," she protested, trying to hide her smile.

"Yes it is. Sherman's been after me all this time to face my fears and he's been hiding a fear of heights – this is too rich!" Willy snorted.

She had to agree and she laughed gently, glancing over her shoulder at the nervous psychiatrist. When her eyes returned to Willy, his warm violet gaze and smile made her heart beat a little faster.

"That's what I've missed – your laugh," he said quietly, one gloved hand cupping her face and leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. The close position made his eyes cross and she chuckled again.

She kissed him on the nose before moving away, "Not a lot to laugh about. In either case I'm fine – just a bit beaten up around the edges, but still me."

"Oi! Watch the cases!" yelled someone right before a crash inside the Grand Wonkavator made everyone jeer and boo at whatever had happened inside.

"Okay – snuggles later once I can get this bunch out of here. Could you go see what you can to get us home? I would rather walk than take a commercial plane...all crammed in like sardines. The idea of breathing everyone else's' used air is enough to make me…brrr…" he shuddered theatrically.

He lunged forward, pecking her on the cheek before darting off to the Wonkavator calling, "No no no! Not like that…"

Veronica smiled at the bright figure fluttering around the small workers and turned to enter the cottage. The place felt empty without the small figures underfoot, but Sni-Ki was still at the counter typing away on his laptop and L.A. was looking avidly over his shoulder. Tupik-Ra was talking quietly on the phone in the next room and she could hear the reassuring rumble of his voice.

"What are you two up to?" she asked, coming up to glance over the small man's other shoulder.

The screen was slammed down with lightning speed and two sets of eyes turned to her with contrived innocence. "Uh, nothing much – just checking out some…stuff." L.A. said, trying not to meet her eye, Sni-Ki just looked mildly guilty.

Sighing in exasperation, she reached around them and flipped open the screen to see what they'd been looking at.

Veronica felt her jaw drop in stunned comprehension as she saw the website

"Mistress Payne's Leather Goods?" she asked, giving the two of them an evaluating glance. "L.A., I'd never guessed…and Sni-Ki?...actually I had my suspicious…"

Sni-Ki blushed violently and twitched, "Um…not for us. Um…well, you see…"

L.A. jumped in, "Actually, it's Sni-Ki's idea. He hacked Victor's credit card account and I've been helping him…shopping."

Veronica blinked and reexamined the page, "Whoa. Quite the…interesting…list here."

The two Oompa Loompas exchanged apprehensive glances at getting caught, would she tell Won-Ka? He'd be so disappointed.

"I'm shocked at you two – carrying on like this. This is a horrible, humiliating thing to do to the man," she started sternly, crossing her arms.

They looked abashed until she continued.

"Not that I don't approve, but you've got this all mixed up – you can't buy for both a Dominant and Submissive at the same time and you've completely ignored the prospects for toys for anal insertion. Here…let me show you…" she sighed, leaning over the incredulous pair to click on a tab near the top of the page.

"See…this is a nice leather harness…I like the nipple clamps…order this up with a bow. Then break up the order for separate deliveries and send it to various sites. You know…like his restaurants…the catering business…his house… over the course of the next week or so."

Veronica's face was mischievous and the trio exchanged a devious glance, "You might also want to pay that extra fee for express delivery. Can't keep a boy waiting you know."

"I find myself thoroughly educated and oddly aroused…where did you learn all this?" Sni-Ki asked, typing furiously. His blush hadn't faded and Veronica wondered for a moment if the small man was harboring a crush on her - although it might be some of the material he'd been looking at.

Sni-Ki was weird like that.

"With Reggie and Spencer I've learned more than I've ever wanted to. I've also learned to never…ever…ask Spencer where he wants gift cards from," she explained.

L.A. giggled at the thought, "Now I know what to get him for birthdays."

"Willy asked me to come in and figure out how to get us home. There's no more room in the Wonkavator. Sni-Ki's got a ride, but the taller of us needs a bit more room to travel." Veronica said, running a hand through her hair in irritation. She just wanted to get home.

"Are you kidding? In Los Angeles? Private planes are a as common as mud. We could go in real comfort if the cost isn't an option…" L.A. trailed off, giving her a questioning look.

"Just get us home as quickly as possible. If we're going to fly – might as well be in style…"

--

Willy leaned back into the comfortable leather couch and sighed happily. This was more like it!

The small aircraft was large enough for a starlet and her entourage, which in fact it was for – if the starlet in question hadn't been in rehab at the moment. Supple tan leather, exotic wood, fully stocked galley and plasma screen television ensured that passengers wouldn't get bored. It was a bit too bland for his personal taste – but far superior to flying coach.

Veronica was stretched out across the seat with her head resting in Willy's lap, fast asleep. He stroked her hair, watching her breathe fondly. L.A. and Tupik-Ra were in the forward seats, talking quietly – flirting if his eyes didn't deceive him.

It would be a long flight with several stops for refueling. The time change alone from one place to the other without calculating the time it actually took to travel was mind-boggling. Willy closed his eyes and leaned back his head, fully intending to join Veronica in a nap.

It was one of the reasons he hated to leave the factory to travel. Once there and acclimated, he was fine – eager to explore and see new sights, taste new things, try new experiences. It was the disorientation, not knowing where he was in time and space that threw him.

Veronica made a noise and shifted on the seat to turn onto her side, facing toward him. He held his breath and froze until she stilled again. She nuzzled closer and let out a long sigh, sinking deeper into sleep.

Firmly reminding Bob that this was neither the time nor place for the thoughts that threatened to stir, he glanced up at the Oompa Loompa couple. L.A. had been sniggering as they got onto the plane and he'd never gotten the chance to ask her what she was up to.

"L.A.?" Willy whispered, trying not to disturb the sleeping woman in his lap.

The engine noise made it impossible to hear.

He glanced around, looking for something to toss in their direction, but the cushions were out of reach without risking waking her up. He'd have to settle for something drastic.

L.A. and Tupik-Ra were startled out of their conversation when Willy's hat flew from the back to land in the aisle between them. Tupik-Ra glared at the Chocolatier who indicated that he wanted to speak with his companion.

The Oompa Loompa woman made her way up the aisle to take the seat facing Willy, 'What's up?" she asked in a low voice returning his hat.

"You're up to something," he said accusingly.

She shrugged, "Maybe."

"Spill – we've got a lot more time before we get home and I want to know what the joke is."

Instead of speaking, she pulled out a newspaper from her large purse and handed it across to him.

It was an entertainment paper and he was startled to see his name emblazoned across the top.

WILLY WONKA ON THE LOOSE!

"What the…" he breathed, rapidly scanning the article.

His eyes were dragged up to the picture. It was a good shot of what looked like him, dressed in his favorite plum coat and top hat, goggles firmly in place apparently holding a can in a supermarket. The picture was caught mid-comment to some middle-aged overweight woman who looked startled and ready to swoon. Charlie was standing by the side of the cart, sorting through something inside and the expression on his heir's face looked blasé, but there was a hint of something in his expression – only known by those familiar with him – that said he was up to no good.

"Charlie was getting harassed by Slugworth – a lot of strange queries and comments. Rather than draw attention to the fact that you were not there, Spencer suggested a decoy," L.A. explained.

"Who is this?" Willy asked, examining the face closely. The mouth wasn't quite right, but it was amazingly close to his own features.

"An American actor named Johnny Depp – I believe you met him at Spencer and Reggie's wedding if Spencer was right."

"The pirate guy? Wow – who knew?" Willy said, grinning and handing the paper back. "He hasn't been getting into any trouble, has he? I don't want to head home only to get arrested for something he's done as me…"

"Charlie's been keeping an eye on him. They've been popping up around town only to disappear just as suddenly. It's been driving the paparazzi mad – according to Smi-Li, the crowd outside is down to half its original number. Spencer told me that Johnny said he'll keep it up until Wednesday."

"Giving us a couple of days reprieve – Cool Beans!" Willy said cheerfully. "I've got to meet this guy when I get back."

Veronica twitched in her sleep, her brow creasing slightly – groaning in her sleep. Willy jumped slightly and L.A. stood and moved back toward the front winking at the man.

Willy stroked Veronica's hair again, trying to soothe her back into sleep.

"That feels good," she said, not opening her eyes.

"So do you," he replied.

She rolled back onto her back, opening her eyes and stretching, "How long was I out?"

"I have no idea. Go ahead, ask me which time zone we're in and I will proclaim my ignorance to anyone who cares," he said lightly.

Veronica blinked and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, the dry air making her lids stick to her eyeballs, "I'll be right back," she mumbled, staggering to her feet and into the lavish bathroom near the front of the plane, past the forward seats that held the Oompa Loompas.

Once the door was closed, Willy called out to L.A., "Let's invite pirate guy and his family to the factory for a visit. It's the least I can do to thank him for playing sitting duck for the media."

"You got it Boss man."

As Veronica sleepily returned to her seat next to him, he slouched low, pulling the hat over his eyes letting his mind wander. The possibility of having someone who resembled him playing decoy on occasion would be of huge benefit. He'd actually be able to go out like a normal person again…

There was a thump against his side and he tilted up the hat to glance at his companion who had fallen asleep again, slouching against his shoulder. Rolling his eyes, he muttered, "This is silly."

He nudged her back awake and rose to crouch before the couch.

"What are you doing?" she yawned.

"Giving in to the inevitable," he said, reaching under the couch with a distracted expression – he gave a cry of triumph as there was a metallic click and she yelped in surprise as the couch folded down into a slightly lumpy bed.

Willy removed his hat and coat, setting them on the seat across them and opened up a storage compartment to pull out a blanket and a few pillows. Handing one to her he crawled next to her on the bunk. Too weary to argue, she put it down and immediately curled into a ball – out like a light between one breath and the next. Willy snuggled up to spoon her, draping the blanket over them and closing his eyes.

Before he knew it, he too was fast asleep.

--

Victor returned home, feeling pretty smug about his meeting with Slugworth. Opening the door, he was startled to note that Rosalinda or what's her name the replacement maid had not shown up to clean his condo. D

irty dishes filled the sink and clothes, towels adorned the furniture, just as he had left it after leaving this morning.

"Damn it," he cursed, grabbing his cell and dialing Rosalinda's number.

"Domestic Divas, this is Rosalinda," said the older woman's brisk voice.

"Rosalinda – this is Victor Brahm. Why wasn't my home cleaned today?" he demanded.

"Senor Brahm, you are no longer a client of this business. Who you get to clean your home is not our concern," said Rosalinda's frosty voice.

"What about the girl sent to replace you…Lana or something?"

"I have no idea who you are talking about. I put up with your nonsense for too long Senor Brahm. I cleaned up many things outside the scope of our contract without comment. However, you abused our working relationship and it is no longer tolerated. Good luck finding someone else to clean up your pigsty ways – and may God have mercy on you."

The phone hung up with a click.

Victor resisted the impulse to fling the phone away – the hassle of getting a new one programmed just wasn't worth the effort.

A knock on the door grabbed his attention. Opening it, a FedEx driver held a box and a clipboard.

"Victor Brahm?"

"That's me," he said surprised. He didn't order anything.

"Sign here."

He scribbled his signature and collected the box.

Closing the door he investigated the box. No return label on the outside, just a bar code and his address.

He took the box into the kitchen and grabbed a knife to cut open the box. Inside was something wrapped in plastic and a lot of Styrofoam peanuts that managed to get everywhere. Batting away the clinging mess, he ripped open the bag to see something made of black leather inside.

Victor grabbed the leather and pulled it out.

Chaps?

There was an attached invoice inside and he grabbed it in confusion. What the hell was this?

_Welcome to the wide world of Bondage!_

_Mistress Demeter promises you will find all orders of the highest quality restraining material for you and your lover(s). Enjoy._

Inventory 

(1) Beginning Submissive Kit including:

- Nipple clamps

- 4" butt plug

- Luscious Lovers warming oil

- Steel handcuffs

(1) Black leather chaps (size - large)

Victor felt his eyelid twitch in agitation as he studied the inventory sheet and the soft black leather before him.

It had his name all over it – even signing him up for the weekly newsletter.

It had his credit card number and a charge of 550.72 for the order.

"What the holy flying fuck is going on?" he asked between gritted teeth.

Someone was fucking with him. He felt his body tensing with restrained fury and his eyesight dimmed with the jump in his blood pressure.

The phone rang and Victor grabbed it before it had even finished ringing once.

"What?" he barked.

It was hard to hear his general manager over the noise of the kitchen but he could dimly hear the man speak, "_Vic? This is Teegan down at the restaurant…listen, I know you've got a lot on your plate, but I just opened an order for you from some S&M place. I stashed it in your office for now, but really man – get your shit together. The health inspector wasn't too happy to see that crap…_"


	62. Chapter 62

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Alcohol is for adults and to be enjoyed responsibly. I am in no way, shape or form advocating alcohol abuse. Music abuse is another story – anyone can abuse a good song if sung badly. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 62**

By the time that the black Mercades-Benz pulled up outside her apartment, Veronica could say that she was quite thoroughly fed-up with traveling. Her eyes were dry and sore, her body cramped from sitting in one position for far too long and she felt like she was covered in her own personal grease.

Strangely enough, she wasn't tired. Willy had insisted in stopping for the night (morning?) in Iceland of all places – surprising all of them with a night in the famed Ice Hotel. The hotel provided warm winter clothing and they had amused themselves exploring the hotel and the surrounding area on snowmobiles for a few hours before returning to devour the lavish feast laid out for their consumption.

Veronica had to admit – it was a wonderful memory to wake up that morning (afternoon?) under thick fur blankets feeling rested for the first time since leaving home. Willy introduced her to the joys of jumping from a sub-arctic room into a steaming hot tub to warm up, sipping hot chocolate and giving each other heated glances – even though it was much too cold to think of taking it much further than that. By the time they left, she was feeling positively tropical.

As the plane had landed though, her mood had plummeted south. She felt like she was boxed in, jumbled in a too-small a space with Willy and the Oomapa Loompas_. _Tired of looking at the same faces for hours on end she sighed, _I need to get away…a change of pace…anything at this point!_

L.A. and Tupik-Ra collected their bags and rolled them to the staircase leading to the basement and the tunnel running to the factory as the dark car rolled away from the curb outside the main lobby.

"I'll catch up with you later," L.A. promised. Veronica nodded, knowing that they both desperately wanted to get home. The disproportionate sizes aside, they were Oompa Loompa at heart and missed their people.

She could relate – she missed Reggie and Spencer terribly. _How are they recovering?_ She wondered guiltily.

Willy grabbed her bag and led the way into the brass elevator and she trudged along after, playing with the cheap wristwatch she'd picked up at the hotel gift shop, trying to figure out what time it was.

Annoyed at him for insisting on coming up instead of going to the factory to check in with Charlie, she took a deep breath and focused on trying to get herself orientated to when it was.

"Are we four or five hours difference from Iceland?" she asked, spinning the tiny knob to watch the hand whirl forward around.

She felt tense and irritated – as much as she loved Willy, being forced to spend more than a day in tight confines was wearing on her nerves. A hot shower and some time to herself sounded lovely.

"Two actually…but adding in the flight time…daylight savings? Yes? no…" Willy frowned, gesturing in mid-air to an invisible globe and trying to figure out time changes and other such things. He finally shrugged, "I have no idea. It's either late or early – I say 'Nighttime'."

He slumped slightly and she could tell the last couple of days had been wearing severely on his normally chipper outlook on life. The suppressed irritation with her was still present, rising above the initial relief as the hours of confinement wore on and she knew he was stewing. His comments in the car had become increasingly short and waspish. He was spoiling for an argument.

_Bring it on_.

The elevator stopped and she opened the protective screen and followed Willy down the hall to where he fumbled with his huge ring of keys, flipping through rapidly. The sight depressed Veronica.

_That was another thing I'm going to have to deal with_, she thought tiredly. Replacing her wallet, cards, keys and everything else she'd kept in her missing messenger bag. The bureaucratic nightmare from her abduction was just beginning.

Willy tried a lock in the door with no success. Seeing that there were at least four identical keys, she sighed and leaning up against the wall – grappling for the last of her patience.

"Maybe I should kick it in?" she offered.

"No," Willy said coldly, giving her a reproving look.

She smiled brightly at him just to get on his nerves – a ploy she had learned from him.

Judging by the cloudy expression, he didn't appreciate his own tactics used against him.

"I really need to use the bathroom," she said helpfully as he tried another without success.

"Patience," he said from between gritted teeth.

She knew how much it annoyed him not to be able to find the right key on first try but she was aching to have a good spat to get her blood flowing.

"You could have just given me the key and gone home," she said sweetly.

"Not until I made sure you got in safely," Willy said in an equally saccharine voice with his bright plastic grin, "After all, you have such a good record for staying out of trouble." His voice may have sounded sweet, but his eyes were growing dark with anger.

All distractions aside now that they were home – the gloves were finally coming off.

Her eyes narrowed, "Yes, well my association with you seems to bring out the worst in some people"

Willy was turning, words designed to hurt ready to launch off his lips when a click and a clatter of chains against wood caused his heart to launch up into his chest in an instant fight or flight response – judging how he felt at the moment it was going to be "fight".

The door to her apartment was jerked open and Spencer stood framed in the doorway in his full operatic presence.

"Do you two have any idea what time it is? How worried we were about you?" he shrieked, making them both jerk back in surprise.

His hair was cropped ultra short – no more than a thick fuzz across his head and for a moment, Veronica thought he looked absurdly like David Beckham. Then he threw himself at her with open arms, blubbering loudly and the moment was over.

He was just Spencer.

She kissed him on the cheek, ignoring Willy's gobsmacked expression at the reception. Spencer's wounds had mostly healed, leaving few fading areas of pink skin and a red irritated line across his scalp where the doctors had to operate to relieve the pressure on his brain. It was only then that she noticed that his leg was still in a cast up to his hip under the dark blue sweatpants he wore.

"Actually no, we don't – why don't you tell us," said Veronica, recovering quickly and pushing past Spencer to enter her apartment.

Reggie was standing near the door, eyes thick with tears and she gladly fell into his arms for a hug – a few tears of her own leaking from her eyes. The only remaining signs of his assault were fading bruises at the corners of his eyes and a slight bump on his nose that gave him a more hawkish appearance.

Their rapid recovery was a reminder of how much she owed Willy and she felt guilty for trying to pick a fight. He was exhausted and emotionally drained and it wasn't fair to needle him like she had been for the past hour.

_I'm a bitch._

Meanwhile, Spencer grabbed the stunned Chocolatier's hand and shook it rapidly, "You did it! You swank bastard – you brought our Ronnie home safe! I knew you could do it." Then he too was tackled by a blubbering Spencer with a bear hug.

"Gah!" he cried, wiggling away out of Spencer's embrace. Frantically brushing his coat and making sure nothing was out of place he shot a wide plastic grin at the wide-eyed man. "Don't squeeze the snozzberries out of me – I'm delicate, I bruise easily…"

"What are you two doing in my apartment?" Veronica interrupted.

"We got worried about you. L.A. kept in touch, but when the Grand Wonkavator shot overhead and we never heard anything – we were afraid something else had happened to you," Reggie explained.

"So here we are, 8 o'clock on a Friday night, sitting here worried out of our skulls…you could have called you know," Spencer scolded her.

"I know…I'm sorry. We really did lose track of time, it feels like 4 a.m. or so and I didn't want to wake you," she said, upset with herself all over again.

There was an awkward moment of silence while Reggie and Spencer gave her an expectant look. Looking between the two of them, she blurted, "What? I said I'm sorry – it's not like I had a real good trip, but what do you expect?"

Reggie crossed his arms and mock-glared at her, the amused twinkle in his eyes giving him away, "I expect you to tell me about your engagement you silly bint."

Veronica blushed and shot a glance at Willy whose face slowly broke out into an evil grin. His bad mood had started to melt away as she was cross-examined by the experts. There was no way that anything he could say or do would measure up to the guilt trip these two were laying on her.

Seeing that his presence had largely been forgotten, he took a seat on the couch and watched the show.

"Running off across the bloody globe, not telling anyone about death threats against you, playing at being a martyr – I should call Mum on you," Reggie growled even as Spencer grabbed her hand and gave her ring a close examination.

"Willy – this is beautiful work! Where did you get it done for this ungrateful wretch?" he asked.

"Hand-crafted by the Oompa Loompas," he announced.

Reggie looked at the man levelly, "Who?"

Willy slapped himself in the forehead in amazement, "You don't know about the tribe? Veronica what have you been telling these two?"

"Nothing – which is why I signed the confidentiality agreement, remember?" she snapped, still irritated with him.

Willy was trapped for a moment. His trust in these two – especially after helping him cover his absence and actually getting attacked and hurt just because of their association with him – was absolute, but he was still reluctant to let anyone new into the factory. It was only under the most desperate of circumstances that allowed Veronica inside.

_But you said you'd give a tour for that American actor and his family_, Bob prodded.

Yeah, but I was thinking about just the chocolate room and the river – not sharing the whole thing.

_You love Veronica and want to marry her – that means that these two are going to be family_, Bob said reasonably. _You don't keep secrets from family_.

Willy squirmed uncomfortably, not realizing that his internal conversation was being waged across his face and open to the curious eyes of his onlookers.

"I hate it when I'm right," he muttered to himself before turning a bright smile onto the two waiting men.

"Okay – remember how shut down my factory and had to fire all the present workers?" Willy asked,

"Of course – you weren't exactly Mr. Popular for the next couple of years," Reggie said.

"Well…I kinda did a bit of travelling and found an indigenous tribe in an isolated area who agreed to move into my factory and work for me in exchange for highly prized and coveted cocoa beans," he admitted.

He waited breathlessly for a response, but the men kept staring at him.

"Is this a joke?" Reggie asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No."

"Slave labor?"

"They're not slaves – they're welcome to come and go as they please. It's not my fault that they adopted me as their great Savior," Willy said defensively. He could see Veronica snickering and he crossed his arms and pouted. "In fact they boss me around most of the time."

"They're quite content in the factory and see it as their refuge from the world," Veronica said smoothly. "Spencer, you already met one of them – L.A. is an Oompa Loompa."

"That lovely woman? So why so they stay in the factory?" Spencer asked.

Willy and Veronica exchanged a knowing look – it was nothing that could really be explained, just seen.

"Willy, would you mind letting Reggie and Spencer visit the factory to see for themselves?" she asked hesitantly.

Willy paused and nodded once, "Not now though – tomorrow."

Spencer clapped his hands excitedly, looking like a kid on Christmas morning, "I get to see inside the factory? Holy Cow! Oh – what am I going to wear?"

Reggie rolled his eyes, "Spence. Please!"

Spencer calmed, but his hands still fluttered around like captured birds, "This is marvelous – truly marvelous. To celebrate, we should go to the pub for dinner!"

Veronica's eyes widened, it had been months since she's gone to the pub with Reggie and Spencer and it sounded exactly like what the doctor ordered, "That's a great idea – let's go!"

Willy looked apprehensive, "Are you sure? After everything that's happened…"

Veronica gave him a level stare, "I'm going to be with Reggie and Spencer. Come along if you'd like, or not. We're not joined at the hip you know."

Spencer looked at Willy, breaking out Puppy Eyes™ for good measure, "Come on Willy – it'll be fun. I promise."

_How did one man managed to look so pathetic…it's horrible_, Willy thought. _Damn Puppy Eyes™!_

Charlie wasn't expecting him until tomorrow morning and with that Depp person running around being him, it would be easy to slip out for an evening.

What was the worst that could happen?

"Are you sure you don't mind?" he asked in a small voice.

Veronica was amazed – he was actually going to do it! She wasn't sure to be delighted or appalled.

Either way, she still felt filthy.

"If we're heading to the pub, I need to get cleaned up. Gentlemen, excuse me…" she said, turning toward her bedroom and her long awaited shower.

"You are going to need to change," Reggie said as soon as Veronica left the room.

Spencer clapped his hands together in delight, "Makover!"

Reggie looked at his lover in exasperation, "Could you sound any more like a reject from 'Queer Eye for the Straight guy'?"

"Nope!"

Veronica emerged about half an hour later, clean and ready for a little R&R after the long tip. With Reggie and Spencer serving as a buffer, she could maybe finally start to process what had happened to her and figure out what she was feeling.

The two men were clustered in the kitchen around what looked like a barstool from her breakfast bar. Upon hearing the door open they whirled and created a human wall with their bodies to prevent her from seeing what was going on.

Raising a suspicious eyebrow, she crossed her arms and gave them a questioning look, "What are you two doing to Willy?"

Reggie grinned and Spencer gave a flamboyant bow, "Ronnie my dear, may I introduce your escort this evening?"

They stepped to the side to reveal a much transformed Willy Wonka.

Gone were the flamboyant clothes, the pageboy haircut and characteristic top hat.

In their place was a rather weedy-looking pale man in Reggie's Manchester United football jersey with a long sleeved tee shirt underneath and a pair of Spencer's dark blue jeans. His mahogany hair was back in a very short ponytail under some sort of ballcap shading his face. His beautiful violet eyes were hidden behind square horn-rimmed glasses. He looked utterly unremarkable.

Shocked, she could just stare.

Willy was grinning and she latched onto his gleaming white teeth as the remaining familiar feature. For some reason she felt like bursting into tears.

What was wrong with her?

Willy stood and walked over to take her hands. Up close, she could see his vivid eyes and felt reassured.

"Don't worry – it's still me," he said, peering at her.

"I know…it just took me for a moment. I rather like the way you normally look you know," she replied softly. She leaned forward to place a soft kiss on his lips.

"Awww….aren't they sweet," cooed Spencer to Reggie.

Willy slipped an arm around her shoulders and she folded gratefully into his embrace. For all that she was wishing that he'd just go back to the factory, she was glad he was there.

Push and pull.

"Ready to go?" chirped Spencer, grabbing Reggie's hand for balance. For the first time, she noticed that he was walking with a cane and guilt poured down once again.

Willy squeezed her hand reassuringly and through the glasses, she could see sympathy in his eyes.

Veronica let go of Willy's hand to grab a ceramic jar off the cupboard and unscrewed the top to pull out a hand full of Euros, "I am now. I've got first round."

--

The music from the jukebox competed with the noise from the match on the television over the bar. Smoke hung in the air in a light haze and the press of bodies around them provided almost a comforting screen from the rest of the world.

Of course it might be from the two pints she'd already downed and was currently working on her third.

Willy had surprised her again by actually ordering a black and tan, a heavy stout beer layered with a lighter pilsner rather than a fruity non-alcoholic drink she'd been expecting. Only the tension when he held her hand revealed his nervousness being out in public. But even that had dropped away as the night wore on and no one had even looked at him twice.

_I guess alcohol is the great equilizer_, she thought.

Reggie and Willy were hunched over their glasses, talking intensely with faces pressed close to each other to hear what the other was saying over the noise. Spencer was flirting with the waitress as she deftly slipped through the crowd delivering platters of beer and food.

She played with the remainder of her ploughman's lunch – fresh baked bread and slices of different cheese with a small assortment of vegetables without much appetite. Her mood was taking a slide again and she didn't want to be a bother to anyone. Veronica was content to close her eyes and try to cheer herself up with coming up with things to look forward to. It was a hard battle since there really wasn't anything nice – just court dates, more harassment by the media, and some commission pieces to finish up.

Sighing, she took a sip of her cider and beer.

The music of the jukebox cut out rather suddenly, with shouts of protest rising from those in the back. Instead, new music started from the speakers near the edge of the small stage at the back of the pub. Someone stepped onto the stage with giddy delight and launched into a badly-sung rendition of "Someone to Love" by Queen.

Karaoke night…great.

Willy cringed as a particularly shrill off-key note penetrated his skull, "Dear god, who's strangling the cat?"

"That would be the manager's wife," said Veronica.

"She thinks she's the next British Idol and no one's got the heart to tell her that she's not," Reggie chimed in, pushing aside the remains of his dinner.

The song ended, much to their relief and it was followed by a nice version of "I Walk The Line" by Johnny Cash.

Willy scooted closer to talk to her. She could smell the beer on his breath and he was slurring his words every so often.

It was only his second beer.

What a lightweight.

"What's bothering you?" he asked, peering over the tops of his glasses at her, arm sneaking to drape around her waist.

"I'm not really sure – conflicting feelings really," she said, unusually honest thanks to the imbibed alcohol. "I feel like laughing one moment and crying the next. I'm sorry for trying to take it out on you earlier."

Willy waved off her apology absently, taking a sip of his beer, "Considering what you've been through, Sherman warned me that this might happen and not to take it too personally. He's a pretty smart guy you know."

She rested her head on his shoulder and his hand slowly came up to stroke her hair as they watched the man singing.

"I just hate feeling like I'm ready to jump out of my skin – on the edge and watching all the time. That's not how I want to live my life," she said softly. "I don't feel like I can really trust anyone anymore…except for you of course."

"Of course," he agreed solemnly with a twinkle in his eye.

"It's tough, but things do get better," Willy said. "I was a real mess after shutting down the factory. It took me more than a year to get my head on straight and during that time I wandered the world – India, Asia, America…um…Antartica…still, Sherman finally made me confront what I was running from. It was actually their idea to come back home with me to the factory – I was willing to stay in Loompaland and act as their protector. Funny…in some ways they became mine instead."

"All you can do is your best. No one can demand more," agreed Reggie. "After the kind of few months you've had, it's not surprising that you're a gibbering mess."

"What about you two?" she shot back, "You were just walking down the street minding your own business when the crap gets beaten out of you just because of me. Why risk it? Why not just sever ties and lay low?"

"Because we love you, you silly cow," Spencer said fondly, "You don't abandon the ones you love at the times they need you the most."

Reggie and Veronica's faces went flat and Spencer realized what he'd just implied, "Oh…pants!"

"What? What is it?" Willy asked confused.

"Mum and Dad," Reggie answered shortly. "Our supposedly-loving parents who pushed Ronnie to not prosecute Marcus because they saw the whole incident as embarrassing."

"Who kicked Reggie out of the house after he owned up to being gay," Veronica said, "After he struggled with telling them for almost three years after realizing it himself. Who cut me off after I wouldn't abandon him too."

"My Dad – who abandoned me as a nine year old boy because I wanted to make candy," Willy finished, feeling for the first time that he was not alone in his parental issues.

"My Mum, who refused to let me borrow Grandma's wedding dress for Halloween," Spencer sighed.

Their eyes snapped to Spencer who grinned unrepentantly, "What? Aren't I allowed to play?"

A group of semi-drunk men staggered past their booth. One stopped in surprise, eyes widening as he stared at Willy.

"Oh gobstoppers," Willy whispered.

"Hey! I know you…" the man bellowed, yanking on the arm of his friends and pointing to Willy. "You're famous, you are. I saw you on the telly!"

Willy gestured for the man to keep his voice down, "Yeah, sure you did."

"You're that guy…the American one…Pirate."

Veronica snorted her drink and coughed violently, Spencer thumped her on the back a few times while the man continued,

"I love that movie! Where you're swinging around, waving the sword and making off with that treasure map…"

"I think you've made a mistake," Willy suggested trying to get the man to shut up.

"If you're not him, you should sing a song!" said one of his burly friends, in the drunken logic that insists that tattoos of former girlfriend's names was a great way to get the girl in question back even though she was married with two kids.

Judging by the man's bright red face – he was a few drinks too close to that point now.

Willy protesting, was dragged out of the booth and pushed to the small stage by the crowd, who loved public humiliation as well as the next person and knew a good show when it saw one.

Veronica cringed as Willy was thrust into the spotlight and grinned like a maniac at the crowd, his eyes bright with terror.

"We've got to help him!" she hissed, grabbing Reggie's shirt.

"Too late – he's already up there. They think he's Johnny!"

Willy was blinded by the light, but he could hear the restless anticipation of the crowd. A small bald man stage whispered to him," What are you singing? I'll cue up the music."

Oh well…if he was going down in flames, he might as well go in style.

Willy whispered back his request and shaded his eyes to survey the crowd. He saw Veronica, Reggie and Spencer near the back of the crowd in their booth, watching in horror. Giving them a cheerful wave he grabbed the microphone off the stand, "This is for a lovely lady as the cherry topping to a terrible day – Ronnie, this is for you."

The music started up and his nerves disappeared – he always was a showman at heart.

As he began to sing, the crowd noise died down as everyone listened in astonishment.

Spencer shook his head in disbelief and Reggie felt his jaw drop. Veronica had to clap a hand over her grinning mouth while trying to muffle uncontrollable giggles.

Willy was singing "Aquarius" from Hair.

And he was terrible.

No, not just terrible – horrifying.

It was music genocide.

The sheer cacophony of the song with so many missed notes that he might as well been singing a completely different melody was so astounding in its atonal glory that words escaped for their lives.

She prayed that the suffering would end soon.

Willy was oblivious to the effect. His eyes were closed and he sang with every ounce of emotion he could dredge up.

Finally, the music stopped and there was a round of heart-felt round of applause just because the onslaught was over. Willy, still grinning, handed the microphone over to the bald man and hopped down, moving easily through the crowd now that no one was trying to stop him.

He leaned across the table to collect his beer and held it up, "I would like to propose a toast."

They stood and held up their glasses, Veronica was still struggling to stop her giggles.

"To the family we choose rather than the family we're born with – we've only ourselves to blame," Willy intoned, winking at her.

"Here, here," said the two men at her side before they too drained their glasses.

Veronica wiggled of the booth out to hug Willy. She kissed him once lightly and he returned it with interest. She looked fondly at him, "I do love you – you silly bastard."

"I love you too, but let's scram before someone asks me to sing again."

The crowd was still sedate, a few of the more sensative listeners cringing and weeping into their drinks.

"That's not going to be a problem," Spencer muttered.


	63. Chapter 63

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. This is a bit of a break for our heroes since they need it so badly – Stealth Phoenix_

_**Warning – adult content ahead. If adult sexual behavior disturbs you, move on. You have been warned! **_

**Chapter 63**

"So let me get this straight. While I was running around being you, you were hitting the bar and singing karaoke as me?" Johnny asked, hands in pocket walking calmly along side of the Chocolatier. Dressed casually in cargo jeans and open necked button down shirt, he was a low-key presence in the splendor of the Chocolate Room.

"Yeah. Funny huh? I think they took the hint that I wasn't you after I sang," Willy admitted, kicking a stray gumball off the path and back into the swudge. "Spencer was saying that he heard dogs howling outside."

Johnny grinned. Unlike his doppelganger, he could actually carry a tune in a bucket. Nothing like Pavarotti or anything, but enough to get him through Sweeny Todd.

"Don't feel too bad. I understand you've got happy feet and I can't dance my way out of a paper bag. I envy you there – do you know what I could accomplish if I could actually dance?" Johnny said sympathetically then raised his voice to shout, "Lilly! No putting candy in your brother's hair – Jack, quit antagonizing her, you're just asking for trouble!"

There were childish shouts back and Johnny sighed and slouched, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

Willy grinned at his tired expression, probably the same that crossed his face after a full day of dealing with factory problems only to be confronted by one more.

Johnny Depp and his family arrived this morning and Willy had escorted them from Veronica's apartment through the secret tunnel and into the factory proper. Rather than hogging the tour, Willy indicated that Charlie should take the lead. He wanted to see how his heir did touting the amazing things he'd developed, and it was tough to do that and guide at the same time.

The amazed looks on the adult's faces and the sheer delight on their children's was gratifying and the tour had come to a screeching halt as they reached the Chocolate room. Willy had known that this would be the case and wasn't surprised that everyone wanted to spend time exploring the room's finer details.

That's why it was the last stop for the day anyway.

Veronica and Vanessa were curled up on a blanket near the Chocolate River with Clara Bucket, talking quietly and laughing loudly. Johnny's girlfriend turned out to be a statuesque brunette with smoldering dark eyes and a wicked sense of humor. She and Veronica had hit it off like a house on fire and had spent most of the tour lurking near the back and whispering back and forth shooting both of them knowing glances that occasionally made him uneasy. Who knows what they were up to?

Johnny plucked a blade of the swudge and chewed on it thoughtfully, watching his children and Charlie throwing a oversized truffle back and forth in increasing distances until it splatted in Charlie's hands with cries of disgust and laughter. "Sorry about the mess," he said apologetically.

"It's alright. I've made worse messes in here myself and this is nothing to the chaos after the Golden Ticket contest. It took weeks to clean that up. Besides, I like watching the kids have a good time," Willy said, leaning on his cane and watching the antics of Charlie as he chased the kids, threatening to wipe the chocolate mess on them laughing like a loon. It was good to see the burdens of leadership lifted enough to let him act out the last of his childhood like this.

Charlie had done an outstanding job running the factory in his absence. The few problems that had popped up were handled readily by Neville while Orville was away and he was impressed with the ingenuity of the solution dealing with Slugworth's spies prodding the defenses of his beloved factory. He had a warm feeling that in a few more years, he could turn over daily operations to Charlie without worry.

_I'll still stick around to help out while Charlie's off at school getting whatever degree he wants_, Willy thought, _but eventually, I'll have to move on to new things_. Who knows what might catch his interest between now and then?

Willy heard laughter and turned to see Veronica laughing hard, head thrown back and clutching her stomach. Vanessa's eyes were twinkling as she laughed and she shot a knowing look over at Johnny. Clara was covering her mouth, but her cheeks were flushed and eyes watering as she giggled.

"Uh oh, not good," Johnny muttered, sounding like his pirate character for a moment. "They've been conspiring against us. This is going to end badly I can tell."

"I'm sure it's harmless," Willy said, less than convincing.

The actor shot his counterpart a disbelieving stare, "You don't know women very well do you?"

They strolled along the dehydrated marshmallow stone path to where the ladies sat.

"And just what have you been up to, young lady?" Johnny scolded, trying to go for serious and missing due to the famous smirk on his face.

"Oh, nothing much…just making some comparisons," Vanessa said, with a sly grin of her own.

Willy got a sinking feeling in his stomach as he saw Veronica's appraising stare as it ran up and down his body. If she was trying to figure out the differences between him and pirate boy…

Her slow smile reassured him as did her wink. They'd not been intimate since the night he'd proposed nearly a month ago, but she had been sleeping in his bed and arms more nights than not. Frequent nightmares from both sides interrupted their sleep, but not having her there would have been worse.

Besides, he knew he was much more attractive than some shaggy American actor.

Charlie led the two giggling children back toward their parents, pockets bulging with treats for later. Vanessa rolled her eyes and sighed at the thought of future battles for nutrition.

Such was life as a parent.

"This has been a thrilling visit. Thank you Willy," Johnny said, offering a hand.

Willy hesitated, shaking hands was still not a popular option for him and he settled for an honest grin and an inclination of the head instead, "It was my pleasure."

--

Veronica returned to Willy's room later that evening from her latest session with Sherman. The Oompa Loompa therapist hadn't waited for her to seek him out upon their return to England and the factory. It had been during Reggie and Spencer's visit as she stood under the peppermint tree in the Chocolate Room, watching their delight as they explored the room that Sherman had appeared at her side. He'd simply stood there, silent, his dark eyes watching her with patient understanding and waited.

"_What?" she'd asked gruffly, still tied up with anger and frustration._

_Silence._

"_What do you need?" she demanded, glaring down at him. The emotions she'd spent all day suppressing surging to the surface and she fought to keep a lid on them._

_Still and silent, his eyes never left hers._

"_I'm not talking right now, so you can just go bugger off," she said rudely, trying to ignore those compassionate eyes and failing. Why did he those eyes make her…feel?_

_His silent understanding had been her undoing and she slid to the soft swudge under the tree and buried her face in her hands, repressed tears slowly leaking from her eyes, "I'm so screwed up" she admitted, meeting his eyes from equal height. _

His response was to step forward and embrace her, small arms winding around her head and cradling her head against his chest, "Come see me tomorrow evening – twice a week for now."

He'd helped her through the healing process, something new to her as no one had been there to help her like this before. Considering the isolation she'd felt piecing herself back together after Marcus's attack, this was a walk in the park. The emotions were similar, but the compassionate guidance provided by Sherman helped. It was also with welcome relief that his dual role as shaman for the tribe came into play and he helped provide spiritual guidance as well – nothing attributed to any religion, but still something that helped heal the gaping wound deep inside that she'd never before admit to having.

Content but drained, she looked around to see if Willy was there. He had indicated after dinner at the Buckets that he would try to meet her after her session, but knowing him as she did, something needed his attention and he would catch up when he could.

Emotionally tired, but content, she stripped out of her clothes and put on cozy pajamas and slip on her bright teal fuzzy robe. The pajamas were black with the most eye-watering yellow ducks on them and she happily slid her cold feet into bright rainbow toe socks with daisies made of non-skid material on the bottom. Ugly as hell, but comforting all the same.

Spring was right around the corner and the temperatures were warming outside. Inside was as tropical as ever, but she still craved the textile comfort of her cozies.

She collected her book and curled up in the wingback chair nearest the fireplace. Opening her page to where she left off, she allowed herself to sink into the story – occasionally bursting out with laughter at the author's witty observances or wry turn of phrase.

God bless Terry Pratchett!

Veronica was completely oblivious to Willy's entrance. He changed out of his clothes and into his comfortable silk pajamas and dressing gown without comment. She never heard him say hello, or cough discretely attempting to get her attention. She never even noticed him standing in front of her with arms crossed, regarding her with an amused expression.

It was only after he placed a gentle finger and pushed the book down to collect a slow kiss to her startled surprise that she noticed he was there at all.

"Hello! When did you get back?" she asked, glancing at the clock and seeing that an hour had flown by.

"About ten minutes ago – you were so wrapped up in 'Interesting Times' you didn't notice," Willy said. Then his expression soured, "Why are you wearing those god awful socks?"

Veronica giggled. This was an ongoing point of contention. Willy hated the toe socks and never missed an opportunity to tease her about them.

"They're warm and I like them," she said, pretending to read.

"They're hideous. I'll get you another pair."

"I like these."

"They're actually toe-sucking aliens. No real sock is that ugly."

She had to struggle to keep a straight face, "They are not toe sucking aliens. They're socks"

"Worse yet, they're toe-sucking mind controlling aliens. Take them off before it's too late."

"But my feet are cold."

Willy struck a heroic pose, chest puffed out and hands on his hips, head cocked at what he probably thought was a striking angle, but from hers just gave her a clear view up his nose, "It is my duty to rescue you from these toe-sucking mind controlling aliens."

Veronica was giggling wildly now, dropping the book and scooting her legs up so that she was almost sitting on her own feet, "Willy…"

He lunged for her feet and she jumped off the chair with a yelp and scrambled around to put the chair between her and her crazed fiancée before he could recover.

Leaning on the seat, he gave her a solemn look, "You know that this is for your own good."

"Leave my innocent socks out of this you madman," she laughed as they swerved back and forth around the chair. Willy decided to take things into his own hands and started climbing over the top and she scrambled back to run for cover.

With a panache that was pure Willy Wonka, he stood on the chair and nudged it to tip backward, taking a step forward over the chair as it tumbled, making it look as easy as coming down a flight of stairs as it hit the floor with a smack.

"Those socks have to die," he announced, trying to catch her before she could roll to the other side of the large bed and missing.

They now were at a standoff on opposite sides of the bed.

"They're just socks – warm socks at that. No malicious intent is involved with this particular footwear. In fact they are quite famous for their non-violent intent," she said, breathless with laughter. "It's against the Geneva convention to harm them."

Willy started to creep around the side of the bed toward her and she lunged, trying to leap across again to the other side, but in a lightning fast move, he had tackled her and was using bare fingers to seek out her ticklish spots.

She curled like a shrimp around his hands, shrieking. Rolling toward him, she tried to retaliate but he managed to reach the particularly sensitive area under her arms and she was helpless with laughter.

Seeing her face flush bright red, he broke off the attack and straddled her, sitting on her bottom and facing her feet, "Don't worry dear – I'll save you!" he yelled, grabbing one waving foot and wrestling off the offending material.

"No! Not my favorites," she screamed as she attempted to wiggle free. Unfortunately, her arms were pinned to her sides under her upper body and Willy's weight prevented her from escaping.

Deftly avoiding her flailing feet, he managed to rip off the other sock and with a triumphant grunt, threw them both into the low fire burning on the hearth.

"You didn't have to burn them," Veronica protested, turning her head to see the flaming heaps that had once been her favorite socks.

"For the sake of all humanity I did," Willy retorted, sitting up and allowing her to wiggle free.

"Now my feet are cold," she complained as he rolled back to lie beside her on the bed.

"No they're not – quit whining."

Rather than waste words on argument, she retaliated by lifting the edge of his shirt and curling up on her side to place her feet squarely on his stomach.

"HOLY CHOCOLATE GODS! YOUR FEET ARE FREEZING!!"

"Told you," she said smugly as he went rigid and his teeth started to chatter.

He looked at her with bright violet eyes, just starting to darken to amethyst, "Well – I guess it's up to me to warm you up."

He rolled over and kissed her softly and ever so gently. She responded with opening her mouth in invitation and he took no time in accepting the invitation to plunder. His hand rubbed circles against her back and she wiggled out of the robe to allow closer contact.

Rolling onto his back, he guided her to rest against him, legs entwined, ugly black pajamas with yellow ducks meeting plum colored silk.

She left his lips to follow the line of his jaw up to where it met his ear and enjoyed his shudder in response. Her fingers tangled in his dark hair as his did the same for her own. He broke away breathlessly, staring up at her – looking intently into her face.

Something must have not been right because he smiled sadly and started to push her upright off of him, "There. Nice and toasty." "Willy!" she protested, untangling her legs to sit up and straddle him, "What the hell?"  
"I don't want to push you into anything you're not ready for," he said, resting his hands on her thighs, as if to push her off.

Frustration raged. He's been afraid to approach her since they'd gotten back. She'd waited for some indication that he'd wanted her, was open to approach, but nothing was there. It was as if she was suddenly made of glass and he was trying to put her in the curio cabinet – look but don't touch.

And she was sick of it.

"Don't you think I would tell you if I wasn't?" she demanded, shoving him back flat on the bed and pinning his shoulder with her hands. Veronica glared down into his confused eyes.

"Maybe not in words…" he said.

Gritting her teeth, she ripped open her pajama top, sending buttons careening all over the room. Willy's eyes widened as she grabbed his warm hands off her thighs and slammed them over her now exposed breasts.

"Is this enough of a hint for you?" she snarled, "Or would you like a written invitation as well?"

Involuntarily his hands twitched and she felt a slight sting of arousal as her nipples tightened in response. Beyond that he didn't move, eyes wide and jaw agape at her sudden actions. He looked like someone confronting a wild animal – not wanting to startle or frighten because they were unsure what reaction.

Placing her hands over his own against her chest she looked down at him, letting him see her expression of misery. "Willy. I understand that you want to help and are trying to be considerate of what happened to me, but all you're really doing is making me feel worse right now," She explained, taking mercy on his confusion.

He had been so careful, so considerate that anytime she changed position or shifted due to discomfort, he'd shot her a concerned glance. He hadn't pressed her to talk about her experience beyond the initial disclosure and the occasional glimpses of frustration and sadness she'd seen when he thought she wasn't looking convinced her that he'd been holding back for a while.

"You haven't looked at me twice since we got back other than just cuddle. I'm beginning to feel like you think I'm damaged goods - like I'm not good enough for you because Luis touched me against my will," she said sadly, watching his expression for any indication of what was going through his head.

Willy's eyes widened in alarm at her misperception. _Not want her?_

He'd been struggling not to close Veronica in, to give her a means of exit wherever they were and whatever they were doing – a few times he'd seen signs of suppressed panic and didn't want her to feel trapped. Her work with Sherman had relieved most of her waking moments, but at night when she twitched and moaned in fear, it tore him apart at the seams.

At other times, her sweet soft form was like catnip to a cat and all he wanted to do was bury his nose in and…_play_. But then he'd remember what had happened to her and had a bad feeling that if he pressed his interest without her explicit go-ahead, he'd be just as bad as Luis. Worse - because he knew that she wouldn't say 'no' because she didn't want to hurt him.

So rather than either of them facing that issue – he'd simply not put her in that situation.

Apparently, that wasn't going to work anymore.

His hands cupped her and slid around to caress her back as he struggled to sit upright.

"No. Nothing like that –you don't know how often I wanted to just reach over and…," He coughed with a waggle of his eyebrows invoking a bark of startled laughter out of her. "Anyway. It's just after all the nightmares we've both been having, I didn't want to foist my lusts on you on top of your other burdens," he admitted, looking up into her hazel eyes.

Veronica felt guilty. She wasn't the only one suffering after her attack. Over the past couple of weeks, she'd woken up at times, alone in the bed only to see him sitting by the fireplace, staring blankly at the flames. Other times he tossed and turned in his sleep, clutching at her and whimpering as he was lost in his own nightmares. She felt that she had been able to soothe him back into deeper sleep without waking him, but now there were doubts about how successful she'd been.

"I wasn't going to push it – I'm just happy that you're warm, alive and here with me now. I don't need anything else," Willy said, stroking a stray tendril away from her face.

Her expression softened – she really was the luckiest woman in the world with such a considerate partner.

"Did it ever occur to you that I might feel the same way about you?" she said tenderly, stroking his cheek. "Despite the fact that I'm the one who got smacked around, you've been so hurt I didn't want to drive you away by asking more of you."

Willy grinned up at her and she felt a great burden being lifted, "So…?"

She wiggled against him for a moment until she sensed his renewed interest, "So…consider this your explicit invitation to press your advances, you silly man. Now, back to your previous statement, what exactly did you want to reach over and do?" she asked in a sultry voice.

His hands closed around her and she closed her eyes and hummed happily at his clever fingers, "Something like this," he said, leaning forward to take one taunt bud into his mouth and lapped at her with his rough tongue.

Groaning, she ran her hands through his silken hair, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. Her hands were restless, running down his back and his arms, only to retrace their path – the roughened skin of her hands catching against the smooth fabric of his pajamas.

Balancing herself against him, she placed her hands on his shoulders and ground against him wantonly, feeling his rousing erection pressing against her center and loving the contact.

It was his turn to moan and she smiled against his head. Pushing him back into the mattress, she made short work of the buttons of his top – although not quite as violently as her own. She kissed her way down his chest, lapping at his flat nipples with an exploratory tongue and was rewarded with his gasp in response.

He pushed the top off her shoulders and pushed at her pajama bottoms even as he arched against her. Gasping, they both made work of their remaining clothes.

Willy gritted his teeth, letting her set the pace and take the lead in this encounter, even as he longed to roll her under him and take his time tasting and touching her until she begged. He watched this beguiling woman, this temptress, make her merry way with him and clutched at what he could of her and the bedsheets, bound on the edge of anticipation and surrender and loving every moment, every drop of sweat, every cry she wrung out of him.

Veronica's eyes were wild as she impaled himself on is turgid length with a hiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and watched his face as she rose and fell to the ancient rhythm that called them both. His hands followed the long muscular line of her thighs as she surged against him and all he could do was moan helplessly at her clinching heat.

Tossing her head back, she felt the throbbing heat of where they joined wash across her, relieving her worries and cares – reducing her to a pleading creature of physical pleasure.

Willy thrust up into her and she broke, her orgasm shattering her will and she let the momentum fall as she rode him with irregular jerks. He smoothly took over the movement, wrapping his arms around her and cradling her bottom with both hands, guiding her.

Instead of tapering off, the climax seemed to hit a plateau and she was rising higher than before. Helpless she writhed, and Willy knew that he didn't have much time left before he too would follow.

Cradling her head, he dragged her down for a kiss, reaching between them to play with the bundle of nerves at the center of her pleasure. "I love you," he breathed as he touched her and let himself fly as she clenched around him again, impossibly wet and impossibly tight.

Her response was an inarticulate heartfelt cry as her movements became spastic and the world exploded around her. A sound like the rushing tide wiped out any sound. A few moments later, she could see and hear again and she was treated to watching her lover's orgasm.

She watched as his eyes went impossibly dark and the pink flush of exertion washed across his pale features. His teeth gritted and a small cry broke from his throat, his pale body was tense and the slender muscles stood out in stark relief as he clutched her.

Veronica slumped, suddenly exhausted – the floodgates had opened taking all of her energy with it.

Willy seemed the same way as he pulled her down and with awkward motions, they made their way under the covers to collapse next to each other between cool sheets.

"Are you alright?" he panted, turning his head to see her face and make sure she wasn't hiding anything from him.

All he saw was a disheveled, rosy content woman who had been happily shagged within an inch of her life. Sighing, he fell back in relief and let himself bask in the afterglow and enjoying the warm press of her flesh companionably against his own.

"You owe me new socks," she breathed, draping one cool hand across her sweating brow.

Willy just laughed up at the stained glass of his ceiling – feeling for the first time in a while that things were going to be alright. He caught her hand with the ring with his own and kissed it.

"I will be delighted to replace your toe-sucking aliens with normal socks," he replied.

"They're not aliens."

Snuggling down and drawing her closer to him, he kissed her once more, "Yes they are."

The argument would not be settled that evening.


	64. Chapter 64

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Thank you for the fabulous feedback and support. Special shout-out goes to Yva for her beta reading. Her "A Spoonful of Sugar" is one hell of a read and I'm honored to have her help. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 64**

The collective group held its breath as the single drop of crystalline green liquid fell from the tap of the complicated distillation equipment and into the rotating vortex of clear liquid in the beaker below.

The green was washed away in the greater amount, but scarcely a moment later, bright purple color swirled from the heart of the vortex to wash throughout the beaker turning everything inside the bright color.

"Kill it! Kill it!" Willy said urgently, easing the beaker out from under the spigot and making sure no further distilled essence made it into the beaker. Seeing a single drop smoking on the back of his glove due to his actions he carefully set the beaker down and quickly ripped off the glove and carefully dropped it into the hazardous material disposal. He replaced his glove with a new one – in a plain translucent color before wiping his head.

Flavor chemistry was not for the faint of heart!

Charlie was turning a clamp as quickly as he could and the single drop resting at the tip of the spigot stopped its pregnant process and shuddered in the light for a moment. They watched carefully, but it made no further movements.

"Okay –we've added in the last of the elderberry weed extract – that should hopefully counteract the HGH elastin additive that gives the Stretching Taffy its effect. The proportions we're working with are so minute, that one extra drop would have ruined a whole afternoon's work." Willy explained to Charlie.

Tupik-Ra stood watching his employer's work with new appreciation. It wasn't often that he got a chance to see beyond the immature mask that he wore with the rest of the world, but this day's glimpse into the true genius of Willy Wonka just further deepened his respect for the man.

"Okay – you learned about distillations in Chemistry – so for someone of Tupik-Ra's weight…"

"About 13.7 stone," Tupik-Ra said helpfully.

"And you need 10 ml per kilo… with a limit of 7.6…" Willy scribbled on the pad of paper by his side, tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. He frowned at his handwriting when finished, squinting at the numbers.

"Charlie, can you read this?" he asked, handing the pad to his apprentice with a flourish

The dark haired teenager could read his mentor's writing clearly, and nodded,"Right, so we need to break up the stuff in the beaker into what looks like 4.6 ML/L for oral ingestion."

"Think you can handle it? After all it is just a whole afternoon's work and Tupik-Ra's life on the stake here," Willy asked, giving him a bright grin.

Charlie returned the grin and shrugged, "Sure, if I can handle the factory while you were gone and deal with Slugworth, this is a cakewalk."

Tupik-Ra watched nervously, but Charlie's assured movements as he poured the distilled water into a clean beaker did much to relieve his worry.

Willy him Charlie fondly, "You realize Charlie, that this year you're eligible as a student flavorist if you choose."

Willy was referring of course to his membership in the British Society of Flavorist. He'd been an upstanding member in years past until his disenchantment with the outside world. Since Charlie had joined him however, he'd taken minimal actions to rejoin since membership provided networking opportunities and a chance for Charlie to learn more about the industry.

"I guess," Charlie said with minimal interest, his whole attention eaten up by the task at hand.

He carefully added the last drop, swirling the liquid carefully.

"Okay Tupik-Ra, you know what to do," Willy said, rubbing his hands together in excitement.

The Oompa Loompa man slipped off his shoes and took up a position by the door next to an upturned bucket. Willy hopped up on top of the bucket and used a pencil to mark the lawyer's height, 'Okay – you're at 6'1" right now. Take a taste of our little creation and let's see what happens."

"Why do you use a bucket instead of a stepstool?" Charlie asked curiously.

Willy held up one finger to indicate patience as he handed the beaker to Tupik-Ra.

Hesitantly, he took the beaker with the diluted mixture and sniffed. It smelled vaguely like wine, but when he sipped, it had a cool flavor – like mint or melon.

Both men watched him avidly, like he was expected to explode or something.

"Anything?" Charlie asked, glancing at his stopwatch. "Something should be happening by now."

"Patience," Willy said, glancing over his notes one more time just to ensure his calculations were correct.

There was a warm feeling, centering the bottom of Tupik-Ra's stomach. He relayed the information and waited to see what else would happen.

The warm feeling spread out down his arms and legs, making his toes tingle and his head buzz.

"What's happening?" Charlie asked, pencil poised to take notes.

Tupik-Ra waited, but the warm feeling faded and he still wasn't the right size yet.

"_I hate to alarm, but I have to admit _

_The potion's not working, _

_I'm not shrinking a bit!" _

The Oompa Loompa said sadly, missing the startled looks from the Chocolatier and his apprentice.

"What did you feel?" Willy asked carefully.

"_A nice warming glow, _

_from head to my toe _

_then it faded away _

_and now…Hey!"_

Tupik started as he realized he was speaking in rhyme.

"_What's going on? _

_What's this all about? _

_I rhyme when I speak, _

_Which is strange, have no doubt. _

_But what about shrinking, to original size – _

_I just want to go back to normal, you guys."_

Charlie indicated for the Oompa Loompa to take his place in the doorway to check his height. The teenager carefully measured and marked. As he stepped away, the boy's face brightened and he let out a hoot of glee, "Willy! He's down to 5'10", so it wasn't a complete waste."

Willy nodded, stroking his chin, "It might be the proportions. We'll keep an eye on you for now to see if it's a constant trend or a onetime burst. We're probably onto something here."

"_What about L.A. - my lady so dear?_

_Will this work on her, just to be clear?"_

Tupik-Ra asked carefully.

Willy patted him on the shoulder sympathetically, "I've got a pretty good guess that it would. Considering that she's been like this for a couple of years though, I want to be extra cautious."

The lawyer's shoulders slumped and he nodded slowly.

Then his stomach turned over and he felt nauseous.

Willy saw the color drain from his face and sweat pop up on his forehead. With a lightning fast move, he snatched the overturned bucket and tossed it to Tupik-Ra just as his traumatized system could handle no more and he was noisily sick.

"Hmm….maybe a bit too strong on the elderberry weed still." He muttered over the dry-heaving.

The Chocolatier looked nonplussed, but was matter of fact pouring a bit more of plain distilled water for the Oompa Loompa to swish and spit when the spasm passed.

"That is what the bucket is for, Charlie. Never use two things when you can use one."

--

Later that day found Willy working in his office speaking with one of his suppliers in the U.S. as he tried, without much success to launch another pencil to stick in the plaster over his head.

"Dude! I'm telling you, World of Warcraft is the bomb!" said David Atkins, head of Atkins paper products and supplier of the labels for Wonka products. David was also an avid on-line gamer and had been trying to convince Willy for years to join.

"I'm not interested – you know I'm not interested. Why do you persist?' Willy demanded, flinching as a freshly sharpened pencil came back down and narrowly avoided impaling him in the process.

"Because, if you give it a try, I'll knock off an additional 25 percent off your next order of a quarter a million pounds on the big 140 inch rolls," Dave said. "But I've got to get verification that it's you online and not some flunky."

Willy tapped his teeth, leaning back and twirling in his chair. Paper costs had been up and that break would go quite a long way for the Easter season…

"Gee Dave, I dunno. I don't want to make a big deal and have someone jump all over me for endorsement," he said finally. Spencer had been after him to give this a try too. What was it about him that screamed "geek" to these two anyway?

"Relax! You don't have to use your real name – that's half the fun. You can be…um…like Ragnok the Elf Slayer."

"What's wrong with elves that they need slaying?"

Dave sighed in exasperation, "It's a game – you can be whatever you'd like. Seriously, are you in or not? I'll pump it up to 30 off."

"Okay. Fine. I'll give it a whirl tonight. Just send me what I need to get started," Willy said, satisfied at the deal. A few hours of his time tonight just saved him about 45,000 in paper cost.

"Cool. Check your e-mail and it'll be in there. Oh – whoever you end up playing, just drop me the code phrase, 'Micky, I want your hot pants' so I know it's you. Don't want to smoke you by accident because I thought you were a troll."

"What?" Willy asked in astonishment, "Hot pants? Troll? What are you smoking, dude?"

Dave attempted to explain, but about three words in, Doris threw open the door and ran into the room, her eyes wide in alarm. She indicated for his attention, jumping up and down and waving wildly.

Considering the most excited he'd ever seen her was a smile over a mug he'd gotten her for Christmas a few years ago, Willy knew that it was serious.

"Dave! Whatever. I gotta go. Later!" he dropped the phone back into its cradle and pushed himself to his feet. 'Doris, what's up?"

"Won-Ka. Sherman needs you in the Television room. He says it's an emergency." She said, her voice high-pitched in concern. The matronly Oompa Loompa was twisting her hands in agitation and her warm eyes were worried.

Not waiting for her to finish, he snatched his hat and coat from the stand and grabbed his cane as he darted out the door. His arms were tangled up in his jacket as he tried to pull it on as he ran, getting tangled with his cane.

_What's going on? Veronica's working at home, L.A? Or was it Tupik-Ra? Was he having some sort of adverse reaction to this morning's experiment? What could get Sherman to call an emergency? He was the most unflappable Oompa Loompa in the place…_

Considering that the Television room was one of the few rooms closer to his office than the Wonkavator stop point, he sprinted as fast as he could. His heels clacked on the hard floor and he hurtled over workers as they worked, dodging around carts and careening out of the way as they heard him pounding up the corridor.

He was almost there and he could hear crashing and screaming. Something flew out of the open door and smashed into the wall of the hallway. He could see the crouched figures of Sherman and Herman as they took shelter from the raging female within.

_What the heck?_

Willy slid to a stop and peered around the corner to assess the situation. Something else flew by his ear and he pressed himself against the wall of the hallway, trying to listen to the shrieking and figure out who it was.

"That slimy no-class son of a incestual goat, ball-licking…" a woman's voice was muttering, interspaced with the clacking of high-heel shoes on a hard floor.

"Hello?" he called, pressing his back to the wall and hoping nothing else would fly out the door.

The steps stopped in surprise, "Won-Ka?"

Willy peeked in and saw a furious L.A. holding another of her prized coffee mugs ready to fling.

"Don't shoot!" he yelled, flinching back.

L.A. sighed heavily, "I'm not aiming at you. You'd better come in here and see this."

She set the mug down and handed the tentative Chocolatier a heavy brown envelope. She paced angrily, clenching fist and kicking occasional chairs when she wandered into their path. Sherman and Herman slowly entered the room and surveyed the damage with wide eyes.

"L.A. my child, what has upset you so badly?" Sherman breathed, looking incredulously at the shattered mess around them. Never had a single Oompa Loompa been capable of such destruction.

Willy peered inside the package. It was a collection of marketing materials from Slugworth Candies. That alone was enough to upset him. What was this tripe doing in his factory?

He glanced over the products, and stopped as he double-checked to see if what he read was actually what was written.

Dandy Dishes?

Edible dishes for everyday use? Not a bad idea, or course keeping them from dissolving while eating dinner would be a problem followed quickly with getting them to dissolve while eating them...

A cold feeling struck him as he read further. This was something that Slugworth could not have come up with in a million years by himself. It was too innovative and lateral-thinking for the old man. This had to be coming from somewhere else. _Somewhere close to home..._

"So? It's a good idea. I'm not thrilled to see them do it, but what's got you in a knot?" he asked suspiciously.

L.A. sneered and walked over and pulled a letter to the top of the pile of paperwork. It was an inter-company e-mail setting up a marketing meeting with the new Slugworth spokesperson.

Victor Brahm.

Under that message was another from some civil lawyer in California and Slugworth Candies asking about conceptual trademark and whether or not there were grounds to pursue a lawsuit against Wonka Inc. for patent infringement.

"Where did you get this?" he asked in cold voice as his rage suddenly crystallized as he realized what he was holding.

"It was mailed to Veronica. She was taking a break and visiting when she opened her mail," L.A. said, calming slightly upon seeing his face.

"She's in her apartment – Won-Ka, I think she's in shock." L.A. said, taking the package back from his numb hands.

"I need to see her. Get Sni-Ki to look into this and get Tupik-Ra spun up. This means war." He snapped, bolting for the Wonkavator.

Slugworth was going to try and sue him for using Veronica's methods and ideas under some lame claim that they had the process first. That was one thing, but using that slime Victor as their spokesperson for their new product – something was missing there. Willy had a feeling that Veronica knew more about this at the moment than he did.

It was only a few moments until he was at the tunnel and only a moment more before he was standing at her door. It was standing ajar and unlocked and he could hear muffled sobbing inside.

"Veronica?" he asked, pushing the door open and trying to locate the source of the sobbing.

The apartment was silent except for the noise and he walked as soundlessly as possible to her bedroom.

Inside, Veronica was curled up on the bed, knees to chest, rocking back and forth while she cried. But the expression on her face wasn't anything he was expecting.

It was pure fury.

"Veronica? What's going on?" he asked, sitting next to her on the bed.

"Victor. It's Victor," she muttered, tears of rage streaming down her cheeks. She spoke through gritted teeth. "The son-of-a-bitch stole my ideas and turned them over to Slugworth to save his own worthless ass."

"Your ideas? Dandy Dishes?" he asked in surprise. The aching familiarity of the idea that Slugworth was selling finally making sense. The source of the idea was sitting next to him.

"Yes. When I first worked with Victor, before I realized what an utter shit he was, I came up with the idea and played around with it for a bit. He took notes while I worked. God, I was so naïve," she sniffed, angrily wiping tears off her face and staring at the middle distance.

"All my work – my recipes – everything is based off that one simple recipe for moldable spun sugar, and now he's trying to steal it out from under me."

Willy felt like someone had shot him. Stolen her ideas?

He knew from intimate experience the level of betrayal and rage that she was feeling. To have something beautiful that you created, slaved over, cared for like your own child to be taken from you and twisted into some horrible caricature and cheapened by an enemy and used against you.

Yes, he knew what she was feeling.

"Veronica," he breathed, laying one hand on her shoulder sympathetically.

"He's not going to get away with this," she snarled, twisting to her feet. "There's no way I'm letting him get away with this. I've been terrorized, beaten, blackmailed and humiliated – this is the last straw."

"I'll help," he said in a low voice, hands twisting on his cane with little convulsive jerks.

A plan started to bloom in his mind – the seeds planted by her months ago starting to come to fruition and suddenly he knew that both Slugworth and Brahm had made a terrible mistake angering this woman. The best part is they hadn't realized it yet and he knew how to get revenge…bittersweet revenge.

"What do you say to a little party crashing," he asked, a horrible, wonderful smile creeping across his face. "We need to swing by to grab Tupik-Ra before we go, but I think a little personal visit is in order. The marketing meeting is today – we're making an unexpected stop by," he said, giving her a vicious smile that contained far too many teeth.

"Let's go," she said, collecting a beat-up denim jacket and slipping it on over her casual tee shirt and cargo pants. "Let me get my baseball bat, and I'll be ready."

"No weapons," he said sternly.

When she turned, he was mildly unsettled by the gleam of insanity in her eye, "But Willy, it would be impolite to show up without a gift."

"Veronica." He warned.

She pouted, "Fine. I hope you're thinking of fire-bombing, little else is going to satisfy me at this point."

He shuddered at her bloodthirsty demands. Getting even was fine, but all out anarchy was a short trip to prison.

He was much too pretty for prison – then again so was she…

He pulled her to his side and grabbed her to collect a hungry kiss.

"We're going to stop this," Willy promised her intently, his violet eyes sparking like lightning. "For all that he's done and is trying to do. For the depths he's sunk and the monster he's become, we're going to stop him."

His face was frightening, but she took solace in his words.

"I promise."


	65. Chapter 65

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. A lot happening here, so I'm going to jump right into things. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 65**

The depressing view off the 14th floor of 8 Canada Square at Canary Wharf could be attributed to the dreary weather sniveling outside the window, but it could also be attributed to the soul-sucking boredom of the marketing meeting inside the conference room as well.

Balding men in plain grey suits and nearly identical ties were pointing at flip charts and chanting focus group and target audience statistics in a monotone that lulled one into a trance – so when someone shifted or coughed, it made everyone else in the room jump and glare at the offending party.

Victor had long since drifted into a semi-doze and managed to tune out the annoying voices. He swiveled back and forth in the chair, creating a comforting rhythm that further soothed him into daydreams of television appearances and the fame and money that resulted.

Slugworth was only listening with half an ear, perusing instead the research and development report relaying the costs for developing dandy dishes from the notes that Victor had turned over. There was some fine tuning to the recipe that had to be done since Victor's notes were incomplete, but his chief flavorist insisted that it was something that could be done via logical substitution. Slugworth himself was a little more dubious – long-time conflict with Wonka and trying to reverse engineer his inventions had taught him that there was always a catch. Then again, this wasn't Wonka himself, but his arm-candy artisan partner…maybe it could be that easy…

The air conditioning kicked on, adding yet another level of white noise to the proceedings. The speaker tried to raise his voice slightly to project over the new layer of noise, but the result was still losing most of what was being said.

Victor frowned as the noise grew louder. What kind of AC did this place have? It was nearly 65 degrees in the room already and it sounded like a jet engine whistling through the vents.

Slugworth looked up, annoyed that the drone of voices had stopped because of the roar of the AC. "What's the hold up? Continue. Otherwise we'll have to work through lunch as well," he boomed, clearly heard.

The speaker at the front coughed nervously, "Um, Sir. No one can hear what's going on. Besides, shouldn't we call the building superintendent – it's only March, the AC shouldn't be on yet…"

Victor was mildly amused with the byplay but jumped when the director of Marketing pointed to something outside with a shriek.

There were shouts of surprise and a general scramble to turn and see what she was pointing out.

The roar grew louder and they could now tell that it wasn't the AC unit at all, it was the transparent glass craft descending into view outside the window. Inside were three figures and none of them looked too pleased.

Victor felt a surge of horror as he recognized the cold glare of Satan from his nightmare. The same frightening figure stood poised, wearing a dark maroon frock coat, dark paisley shirt with black slacks and vest only relieved by a shining silver "w" pin at his throat. The shining black top hat with dark maroon band made him loom tall over the others in the glass enclosure.

Standing by his side was Veronica, in her usual grey and light heather green casual wear. Her hair was the only bright spot of color in the immediate view and her face was highlighted by flushed cheeks, but a gleam of the fiery fury he'd seen still glimmering in her sparking bright hazel eyes.

Standing just behind them was a dark man in a black suit and somber mien like a well-dressed funeral director.

Slugworth snarled, "Wonka!"

The dapper man slid open the door of the glass elevator, ignoring the fact that they were nearly a two hundred feet above the ground. He placed his gloved palm against the wet glass of the window and everyone could see a small device pressed between the glass and his hand.

"What do you think you're doing you lunatic!" roared Slugworth, pushing himself to his feet and glaring at the figure on the other side of the glass.

Wonka smiled like a shark and pressed a button on the other side of the device hidden from their view.

The window shattered.

Cried of alarm and panic filled the conference room with the sounds of shattering glass. Shards covered the floor and water trickled from above starting to soak into the carpet.

Wonka shook his hand, as if it were asleep and returned the device to his pocket, "Man, that tingles," he muttered as he stepped into the room off the Wonkavator. Veronica and the dark man did the same to stand behind him, leaving the craft hovering outside like some strange parasitic closet.

"Hi Slugworth! Long time, no see. Nice place you've got here," Wonka said with a bright smile, as if he was just meeting them in the park.

"Wonka! What the hell are you doing? You'll pay for that property damage," Slugworth growled, glowering at the dandy confectioner.

"Bill me. I thought this would be the best way to get your attention. I just wanted to talk," Wonka chirped, tip-toeing around the worst of the damage to look over the marketing posters for the Dandy Dishes.

The last time Slugworth had seen Wonka in person, he was still a slightly awkward young man who seemed to be constantly tripping over his own feet. But with the addition of nearly 20 years, the figure before him moved with a confident self-assurance that he knew exactly what he was doing – there would be no bullying him this time around.

"Then make an appointment like a normal human being – I should call the police on you," Slugworth said, relaxing his shoulders as if comfortable with the situation. Victor could see a muscle ticking in the man's thick jowl.

One of the brighter executives slapped the covers over the posters and glared at him. Wonka shrugged and sauntered slowly toward Slugworth.

"Why would you do that? After all, we're all friends here. No need to be rude. I can't abide rudeness," Wonka drawled, stopping to delicately pluck a piece of lint of the R&D's suit with a scrunched nose. He dropped it with a look of disgust before continuing.

"We're rather busy here right now. Why don't you come back at a later time to chat?" Slugworth purred, glancing at the shattered window and mentally tabulating the replacement costs.

"Why Slugworth – that's why I'm here," Wonka brightened, throwing his arms wide as if to encompass the room and its occupants. "Such busy little bees, all buzzing around the hive…of course, that could be said the same for wasps as well, but bees make honey which is actually sugar so the analogy is quite appropriate."

He paced around the back of Slugworth where he stood at his chair, the old man not turning to watch his progress.

"You see, bees are quite vigilant guarding the entrances, but if one wasp can slip in, they've got full reign of the hive," Wonka said, slipping behind Victor and taking a moment to painfully flick his ear before moving on.

Victor grabbed the ear and glared up at the confectioner, his initial fear fading as he realized that the crazed person in the room was not the same dark figure that haunted his nightmares.

"What are you on, Wonka?" Slugworth huffed, rolling his eyes. This was only one reason he despised the man – his weird tangents.

Ignoring Slugworth, Wonka returned to Veronica's side, giving her a quick wink before turning to face the room.

"You've got a wasp in your hive Slugworth. I thought it only fair to warn you before you do something potentially disastrous – like proceeding forward with a product stolen from someone else. Not that that has ever stopped you before…"

Slugworth slapped the table, glaring at Wonka, "Nonsense! You've crashed through the window, barged into my meeting without invitation and now you stand there making threats. Make your point and get out."

Wonka shrugged, "Alright then, since we're such plain-spoken men. Victor Brahm is making some false claims about who the creator of the candyglass material your dishes are made up of. Pressing forward will result in a patent lawsuit – and considering my associate and partner in these products, Ms. Veronica Carmichael here is the inventor, I recommend you back off. You won't be able to afford the court battle."

Victor lunged to his feet, snarling at the small group in front of the window, "Bullshit! It's mine and I've got the notes to prove it."

Veronica stepped forward, facing her accuser directly for the first time since the competition the previous fall, "You watched over my shoulder and wrote down what you saw – but you never understood the reasoning or the processes. You're a monkey working as a mechanic and you know it."

Victor brought himself up to his full height and sneered down at her, "Just because you've hopped into Wonka's bed doesn't mean you've got the right to barge into here and make such claims."

Wonka stiffened, but Veronica laid a hand on his arm in warning.

"Just because you pose prettily for the cameras doesn't mean you've got the talent to back your claims," she sneered right back, putting her hands on her hips.

Victor saw red for a moment, and he was tempted to slap the shit out of the mouthy bitch in front of him. She'd changed from when he last saw her – she too radiated self-confidence, something she'd been severely lacking when she'd worked for him.

_Guess sleeping with the most powerful confectioner in the world would do that for the little gold-digger_, he thought nastily as he brought himself under control.

"Why don't you head back to his factory and get back to work – flat on your back. After all, you should go where your talents lay, right Veronica?" he purred, giving her a deliberate once over and lingering over her body.

Wonka stiffened even further and his smile faded into the cold glare that he recognized from his dreams as he insulted the woman at his side. He could hear the gloves squeak on the top of his cane as he clenched involuntarily.

"If that's the case, shouldn't you be posing for more websites?" Veronica said sweetly, smiling up at him. "I understand you're quite popular with the gay leather set."

He started to lunge forward, but Wonka and the somber man were in his way as he tried grabbing the source of his frustrations.

"Bitch! I'll strangle…" he screamed, face bright red with fury.

Wonka took the opportunity to jab his cane painfully into his ribs, driving the breath from his lungs with a great whoosh. Victor doubled over as he fought for breath. He fell back into his chair and gasped loudly.

"Now, now. Let's keep out hands to each other, kids. Remember sticks and stones and all that," Wonka said smoothly, hiding the impulse to lash out at Victor again just for the hell of it.

Slugworth was impassive to the scuffle and ignored Victor's wheezing, "So, why are you here? To make some threats and abuse our spokesperson? You could have phoned ahead for that."

"Nope!" Wonka said, popping the last 'p'. "You see, as much as I would like to do nothing better than dismantle you in court, it wouldn't really solve anything. You'd still have your poster child for anger management there and the real owner of the recipe would still be in contention. So I propose another solution."

"What's that?" Slugworth asked, interested despite himself.

"A contest – Ms. Carmichael and Mr. Brahm in the Food Network Kitchen stadium as neutral ground. Whoever can best adapt and use the recipe gets claim over it." Wonka stated flatly, staring unnervingly at Slugworth. "I figured that would appeal to your sense of fair play"

Both Wonka and Slugworth knew just what exactly he'd meant by 'fair play'.

Everyone's head whipped around to stare at the unruffled Chocolatier. Veronica's breath caught in her chest – Willy was pushing up the timeline of her plan. This was a huge risk!

"Who judges? No one you'd select since I know you'd stack the deck, but my own choices would be suspect on the same basis," Slugworth said slowly.

"The same judges from last year's competition and the same scoring. The costs could be divided equally, as worked out by my lawyer Mr. Tupik-Ra and yours, Mr…whatever your name is." Wonka looked over at Raoul Slinkard and sniffed derisively at the man's bad suit.

Slugworth studied Wonka carefully, looking for signs of weakness or uncertainty, "That's crazy – you'd never surrender if Brahm won."

For the first time, Tupik-Ra cleared his throat.

"_If Victor Brahm won, we'd cease and desist_

_Turn over the recipe and new product list_

_Process a quit claim and walk away_

_Within 24-hours or the next business day._

_If Ms. Carmichel wins, then we ask you to freeze_

_Making your dishes and table wear, please."_

The lawyer had a deep voice and confusion reigned through the conference room after he finished speaking.

"Why are you rhyming?" asked Slinkard in confusion.

The dark lawyer pinned the man with a glare, speaking slowly through his gritted teeth

"_None of your business, _

_None of your care, _

_Keep your nose to yourself _

_You horse derrière."_

The Slugworth lawyer puffed up at the insult and pointed a finger at the man, "I bet you're not a real lawyer. What are you trying to pull here with this rubbish?"

Tupik-Ra stiffened and leaned toward Slinkard, glaring with hot black eyes.

"_Class '87 from Oxford I passed_

_Summa Cum Laude with honors so vast_

_More so than you, you'll have to admit_

_Now knock it off you miserable sh..."_

"Whoa! No need to get nasty here," Wonka admonished, holding his hands up. "Can't we all just get along?"

Slugworth tented his fingers, staring up at the ceiling. He was well aware that the greatest strength of his company did not lie in the creation of new candies, but the exploitation of the market and modification of the ones that were already there.

Victor was already suspect due to his legal problems, so there was sufficient evidence to the woman's claims. Wonka was right in the fact that he didn't want to fund a long drawn out legal battle over a product that he knew he had no chance at getting. Only one thing kept him from leaping at the chance.

"Victor, this is really your battle. Think you can pull it off?" Slugworth asked the man slouched at the table casually.

"Pay me a bonus and I might think about it. My time isn't cheap you know," Victor hissed.

"You are though. Selling out students and employees alike," Veronica couldn't help but leap in.

Victor glared up at her, "You should know – you sell your ass to whoever is buying."

Instead of taking insult, she approached him, watching him with a predatory eye.

Veronica glared down at where Victor slumped, "So what do you say? Are you man enough to stand up for what you supposedly invented? Or will you run and hide again, doing your dirty work through the press and back room thugs."

"I don't need to prove anything to you," Victor snarled weakly, holding his sore stomach.

Veronica closed in for the kill. She leaned down and rested her weight on the arms of his chair, leaning in close and violating his personal space.

"What's the matter? Afraid of a little woman like me showing you up in your beloved spotlight?" she hissed. "It might not be today, or tomorrow, but if you back out of this now – you know the clock is ticking until the day you get found out. You're going to slip and then everyone is going to see the scared little low-class boy you really are. They're going to see the bluster for what it is – a no-talent hack clawing his way to the big time. Then they'll forget you. Forgotten like last week's rubbish at the curb."

He was captivated, her eyes glimmered like jewels and he watched the movement of her slick pink lips as they pronounced his fate.

"I'm not afraid of you." He whispered, determined not to let her see how close she'd struck to home.

"And I'm no longer afraid of you. So the question remains, will you or won't you? Sooner or later? The choice is yours." She smiled brightly, with a feral gleam deep in her eyes.

"You're on bitch," he snarled, pushing to stand up. She smoothly leaned back and resumed her place at Wonka's side.

"I'll take your challenge. Just tell me when and where and I'll smoke your pretty little ass."

Veronica's eyes never left his, "Excellent."

Wonka clapped his hands together, the wide crazy smile never moving, "Fabulous! We'll be in touch with the details.

Veronica reluctantly turned away from her staring contest with Victor allowed Wonka to help her step back into the hovering Wonkavator followed by Tupik-Ra. The carpet squished and crunched under their feet as they hopped back inside.

"Oh, and Wonka?' Slugworth asked casually, "Do be a dear boy and pay the bill for the window promptly – I'd hate for word of your strong arm tactics reaching the media."

Willy touched the brim of his hat nodding, "Slugworth"

He slammed the transparent door shut and hit a button, firing the boosters to rocket the Wonkavator clear of the skyscraper and sending a burst of hot air swirling through the conference room. Dust and papers whipped through the room and people scurried back, covering their eyes, clothes flapping in the wind.

When the blast settled down, papers were scattered across the room, some soaking on the wet carpet and shattered glass. There was a knock on the door and building security popped their head in, "Sir? Are you all alright? We got reports of a broken window due to a rocket attack?"

Slugworth waved them away, "Just a minor accident. Call the repairs in please and let me know what the costs are so I can relay them to the responsible party."

The security guards glanced around with dubious expressions but said nothing and closed the door.

"Victor. I hope for your sake, you're up to the task," he rumbled, pinning the man with an icy glare.

Victor brought himself up haughtily, "Not a problem. I'll hire the most skilled workers to assist me. Veronica won't know what hit her."

Nodding, Slugworth gazed at the wreckage around his conference room. It had been the most productive marketing session in the company's history.

"Barring anything else, I call this meeting dismissed."


	66. Chapter 66

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work._

_I apologize for the delay updating (by my standards, anyway). If you've been watching the news, Mr. Depp has announced that he's participating in yet another "Pirate" movie and taking up the role of Tonto in "The Lone Ranger." Considering "Tonto" in Spanish means pretty much the same thing as "Depp" in German, I find this quite amusing. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 66**

Picking up the phone and calling a contact at Food Network was one of most fun things L.A. had ever done. She listened to the phone ring, butterflies of apprehension flapping around her stomach even as a grin set up house on her face and refused to leave.

"Food Network – this is Tom Colburn."

"Tom? This is L.A. from Wonka Inc. How are you doing today?"

"A lot better if you're calling me to tell me that Mr. Wonka approved a filmed tour of his factory," Tom hinted, little hope in his voice.

Tom had been working the request for filming for the past two years and had run into every barrier, blockage and stonewall the L.A. could throw up. Won-Ka's opinion on outside visitors was well known.

"Not a chance. I've got a bigger cookie for you though. Are you interested?" L.A. grinned, leaning back in her crowded office and placing her crossed feet on the top of her desk.

Tom sighed, "Depends on what you've got. How about confirmation about Wonka and Carmichael's engagement? I heard a rumor about it from out Los Angeles office. Not our bag, but we can build around it…"

L.A. coolly cut him off, "Better than that. Remember our grudge match with Slugworth?"

Tom perked up, "Who wouldn't? Wonka accused Slugworth of stealing his recipes and closed the factory. Slugworth's profits have been limping by ever since because his source of 'inspiration' dried up."

"Yeah – there's more bubbling over that. You've heard about Victor Brahm as the new face of Slugworth Candies?"

"Yeah – the wunderkind who is supposed to be premiering some new concoction of Slugworth's in a few months. I haven't heard much more about it though. Do you have anything?" Tom asked.

L.A. was silent, and waited.

Tom wasn't stupid and he was starting to put things together rapidly, "Is the war back on? Has someone stolen another famous Wonka recipe?"

L.A. was silent, letting Tom figure things out for himself.

"No wait…Victor Brahm's grudge was against Carmichael. All that legal wrangling that seemed to have faded out a month or so ago with no resolution. I'm guessing the recipe was hers…and ooh! That's ugly…" Tom winced over the phone.

L.A. just made a noncommittal noise, "I can't tell you what to think."

Tom's voice was cheerful, "But you have some mighty informational silences though. This is one hell of a scoop, but why talk to us?"

"I've got a favor to ask of you then. Could we borrow kitchen stadium in New York for an evening?" L.A. asked innocently.

She could practically hear his eyes narrow over the phone, "L.A., my dove, what is going on over there? You can't drop hints like this and leave me dangling. Who's the kitchen for?"

"Ms. Carmichael and Victor Brahm. Slugworth Candies backing Victor Brahm as their rep for a contest to see who can top whom in a friendly competition just as we've agreed to support Ms. Carmichael."

There was a muffled thud as Tom dropped the phone. L.A. knew he was a bright boy – the implications were vast and the marketing potential even more so.

When Tom picked the phone back up, he was a little giddy, "This is a joke right? A death match between Wonka and Slugworth by proxy and you want to borrow Kitchen Stadium for the fireworks?"

"We'd also need a few impartial judges," L.A. said helpfully, enjoying the man's consternation. "Of course since it's your home court, we'd have to give Food Network exclusive right to coverage."

Tom started to hyperventilate.

"Easy Tom…slow and steady. Take a long breath through your nose and blow out like through a straw as long as possible," L.A. said, sliding her feet off the desk with a thud. It wouldn't do to have him pass out on her.

"L.A. this is beyond me. I need to contact my higher-ups and get back to you about your request. Could I call you back?" Tom asked weakly, even as she heard rapid scribbling in the background.

"Sure. Just let me know sometime today what the progress is. Thanks Tom!" she said sweetly.

"No. Thank you!"

She hung up the phone and looked over to where Tupik-Ra sat in the visitor's chair of her small office. "There you go. I've dangled the worm and the fish are starving. We'll have a date locked in by the end of the day."

--

The small group of people stood huddled around the kitchen counter of her apartment, looking down at the pages before them with various scowls and looks of impatience on their faces.

Each one was a former employee of Victor, each fired when they had rubbed him the wrong way. They now agreed to be her kitchen team in the competition.

Unfortunately, when strong-willed people gathered, it was urinary Olympics until the pecking order got sorted out. Veronica was weary to death of the constant battle to maintain her position of head of the team.

_Maybe there was something to Victor's bad moods_, she thought wearily.

"Right. Enough of this. Michelle, you take chocolate – I'm honest enough to know that I'm crap at it and you're the best of the best. However, don't stick your nose into Neville's business with the fruit – he's better than both of us combined. Sandra, I don't want to hear shit out of you about my designs. I happen to be very good at this and know what I'm doing, you're the pasty whiz, stick to your expertise and leave me to mine," she finally snapped, making the group jump and look at each other guiltily.

Veronica sighed and rubbed at her eyes. They'd been at it since 7 a.m. and it was only lunchtime.

"Each of you come up with your design. We'll share after lunch for brainstorming after lunch and then go into a practice run in the kitchen. Got it?"

"Seig Heil, mein Fuher!" said Neville snidely in his brash Boston accent. His constant snarking was really ticking her off and undermining her leadership, time to nip this in the bud.

"Do you have a problem Neville?" she asked in a deceptively soft voice, "Because if you do I'd love to hear about it."

"You've been running around, snapping at us all morning, Veronica. I thought this was a team effort," he replied, his own frustration riding high.

"It is. However, each of you has got to look to your own strengths and share weaknesses. At least I'm honest enough to admit mine – but you've got to face up to your own. That's what a team does, we cover and help each other. You've been nattering at me all morning trying to take the lead for the competition just because you're the only one here with a 'y' chromosome."

"Have not," he cried, flushing angrily.

Sandra jumped in at this point, the small dark-haired woman from Yorkshire poked Neville in the chest, "Have too. We're sick to death of your sniping. Bung up or piss off. Veronica called us on our problem and it's up to us to fix it."

"Just because she's working with Wonka doesn't mean she's the boss…" Neville started.

"Actually is does," Michelle, a middle-aged blonde American woman with graying hair interrupted. "Veronica's putting her reputation, her work and her money on the line – what are you doing? She flew us all here and is hosting us on her own dime to win this competition. Is the only reason you're here is for a little revenge and that's all? If that's the case, then I think you should go home."

Veronica nodded thankfully to the two women, "Thank you. I'm glad it wasn't just me that was getting annoyed. Now Neville, think you could put your ego aside and actually work with us or do I need to find a replacement?"

Neville's ears were bright red with humiliation, but he nodded, "Alright. I'm just so damn frustrated that I'm ready to burst. First I lose my job to that jerk, and now when I get the chance to show my stuff – that he was wrong – I guess I'm letting my anger get ahead of me. I'm sorry."

Veronica suddenly grinned and patted the sheepish man on his shoulder, "Believe me – I feel the same way. Tell you what, let's slip out around the corner to the pub and get some lunch, on me. I think we need a good break."

While her team was still anonymous enough at the moment, the media would still be hounding her steps. The local pub was a haven against the intrusive presence thanks to dark smoked glass windows, a group of regulars highly protective of their local celebrities, and a unobtrusive back entrance and exit thanks to a sweet bribery to the owner of the pub. It wasn't perfect, but better than nothing.

The group started to gather up their umbrellas and coats in preparation to leave when the phone rang. Sandra who was closest, snatched up the headset, "Hello?"

Veronica watched as a flurry of expressions passed over her face as she listened to whoever was on the other end. Confusion, followed by amazement then shock and finally, she blushed beet red and after shooting Veronica a flustered look, dropped her eyes, "Um…hold on Sir, I think you've just propositioned the wrong girl."

She handed the phone to a laughing Veronica and muttered under her breath, "You're a lucky woman if he can actually do what he was just telling me he was talking about. Meet you at the pub, dear."

Veronica blushed a bright red and ignored the winks and nudges as her team left the apartment. After the door closed she answered the phone, "Willy?"

"I'm never going to live this down am I?" he answered followed by a faint thudding noise as he gently bashed his head against what sounded like his desk. She could hear his thunderous blush over the phone.

It was a bad connection as static snapped and crackled making him sound like he was half a world away when he was actually probably waving at her from across the street.

"Depends on what you were just saying – if it's good enough, I might ask for an encore. Sandra looked pretty impressed and she's been married for ages," Veronica said cheekily.

"Something involving orange marmalade, some strategic dots of whipped cream and …well…um…never mind. How's things going?" Willy asked, lunging for another topic like a man going after a life preserver.

"Rough. We're take a breather and heading to the pub for lunch. How about you?"

"Well, Food Network is willing to lend us Kitchen Stadium on April 17th. Slugworth and Brahm have already confirmed and now the details are being battled over by Tupik-Ra. It's a point of contention over the number of workers. They're pushing for three assistants and then eliminating one per hour until judgment."

Veronica winced as she took a seat. That kind of personnel shift would require a lot more precision planning and practice – and it was only two weeks away.

"Other than that, it's the usual mumbo jumbo." he said. There was a moment of awkward silence and dimly she heard him whisper, "I miss you."

Since he'd issued the challenge, Veronica had been working late night and dealing with the logistics of bringing team members from across the globe to work leaving her with little or no time to spend with Willy. She was almost working as hard as she was to complete the Schnozzwhanger for the Eclipse Ceremony.

_This used to be so much easier when I didn't realize what I was missing_, she thought.

"I miss you too," She sighed, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes against the ache in her heart.

_This wouldn't do – what was life without something to look forward to?_

"If we can get things rolling later this afternoon, maybe I can get over there and we could have a night in with a good movie?" she suggested, toying with one errant strand of hair. Her heart ached just to see his face at the moment and she knew he felt the same way.

"You've got yourself a deal, young lady," Willy perked up.

Whatever else he said was lost to an especially loud crackle and then the line disconnected.

Strange.

Considering that the building was well over 100 years old already with the ancient jury rigged wiring, not terribly surprising. Still, it was the first time having such a problem.

Shrugging, she collected her jacket and her replacement bag and headed out to join her team down at the pub.

--

"Did you get anything?"

The cramped van stuffed with electronic gear was parked up the street and around the corner from where the apartment building was, out of line of sight of the looming factory.

Two men sat in the surveillance van, one up front, deceptively casual as he read his paper and sipped a cup of tea, the other concealed in the back working the equipment. This was different from their usual haunt around the schoolyard for marketing analysis for Slugworth Candies.

"Yeah. We've got a drop -just idle chit-chat about the competition and some rather inventive dirty-talk from Wonka. I never knew the swish bastard had it in him – I figured him more for messing with the lad."

Both of them, at one point or the other during their careers had been busted for illicit use of the eavesdropping equipment. Moonlighting was highly discouraged by Slugworth Industries, especially for blackmail purposes – and not offering them the lion's share of the money. So when they'd been approached with 'official' orders to assist some American bloke by tapping Carmichael's line – they'd jumped on the opportunity just for the sake of breaking the monotony.

"Never mind that. File the report with Vic would you," The other man sighed and returned back to his crossword.

The surveillance man opened his laptop and sent a message

--

Willy hung up the phone after it had disconnected. "I'll have to get Orville to take a look at that. Can't have lines dropping out like that - It's rude," he said to himself as signed yet another paper off the stack Doris had brought him.

He worked steadily for another ten minutes, reading quickly and signing with a flourish of his purple inked pen until the chicken shaped egg timer on top of his computer screen let out a loud squawk indicating that office time was finally done.

"Thank goodness that is over," he sighed in relief, throwing the pen down and twirling in his seat and staring up at the peppermint swirl on the ceiling until he felt dizzy.

Responsibility is all fine and well, but in measured doses!

_Sometimes makes me wish I had the same focus on paperwork that I get on candy invention_, Willy thought himself, allowing the chair to drift to a stop with his eyes closed. _Then again, it's what makes me the World's Greatest Chocolatier._

That was one of the reasons he loved Veronica. She was the same way when it came to work – the ability for narrow focus for extended periods of time to the exclusion of time, bodily needs or social convention. He never had to explain, nor she to him when a simple "Work" was all that needed to be said.

Willy crossed his legs and propped them up on the desk, lacing his fingers together and resting his head against them as he relaxed for the moment.

It was amazing how his whole world could shift in such a short time. If someone had told him last year had said that he would meet a woman with the same interest and obsessive focus on candy, he probably would have asked, "At which mental institution?"

If that same person had told him that she would be a toothsome copper-brown beauty with a rapier sharp with and mind, he would have probably have slowly backed away and locked himself in the Invention Room until Sherman could be summoned to take the lunatic away.

"I wish you could have met her, Dad," he whispered, thinking to the austere man who had shaped his early life and expectation of the female of the species.

_She would have either impressed the hell out of the old enamel engineer or frightened the heck out of him. _

Both responses would have titillated Willy and he had fun for a moment visualizing his father's face to either scenario.

_Now only if she would break the habit of scaring the tar out of him!_

Gallivanting across the states and getting kidnapped aside, her absent-minded way of stepping out without letting him or anyone else know where she was going was going to be the death of him. Just yesterday, she took her crew out to the British Museum to look over some artwork for inspirations without letting anyone at the factory know. When they'd returned, it was only through the security cameras in the building that he'd known and managed to suppress his instinct to run over and shake some sense into her.

Knowing her as he did though, it would be futile though. Too many years of independent living and a long habit of underestimating her appeal prevented her from seeing the worst case scenarios every time she stepped outside the door.

It was part of her charm even if it did drive him to distraction. Her sweet smile and warm hugs easily wiped away the worry and concern once she was back in his arms.

Such was the appeal of Veronica's presence in his life.

It was a tribute to his growing understanding in this strange new realm of male/female relationships that he was starting to catch some of the nuances in conversations around him. Whether or not they were already there or if he was just now noticing them was debatable.

When they had joined the Bucket's for dinner one night, Mrs. Bucket had been stomping around, glaring at Mr. Bucket who was looking a bit abashed and confused. Nothing had been said, but he could tell that Noel was in the doghouse for something. It would have been something he'd missed before – or thought that the anger was directed at either himself or Charlie.

Instead, he'd distracted Clara for a few moments while Charlie led his father on a raid to the buttercup patch in the Chocolate room for a bouquet. When the man presented the candy flowers with his typical shy smile on his hangdog face, Clara had smiled brightly and flung herself into her husband's arms with a warm kiss. He was obviously well-forgiven, even if it was never discovered why she's been angry with him in the first place.

He was leaning back, grinning to himself in a congratulatory manner when the phone rang, and startling him so badly he tipped over backwards with a yelp. His head hit the floor with a thud and he rolled out of the seat rather than be stuck sitting on his own head.

Doris poked her head in at the noise.

"Just me - I'm fine," he grunted, waving her off and crawling to his knees to snatch at the phone, "Wonka Inc, home of the famous Scrumdidllyuptious bar and other confectionery delights. If you want to talk to a real person, stay on the line. If you prefer our automated menu, please press "1" now…"

"Willy – it' Reggie," the man interrupted.

"Reggie! Reg-a-rino! Reg-a-rama!" Willy cried happily, "What's up?"

"Veronica's birthday – please tell me you knew about it?"

Willy froze, his warm fuzzy feelings about mastering the art of the relationship drying up and leaving him naked in a blizzard, "Birthday?"

"Christ! She didn't tell you did she?" Reggie groaned in exasperation, "Bloody idiot that she is – she's agreed to marry you but didn't tell you her birthday! How typical…"

"It's not today is it?" Willy asked in rising horror. He knew forgetting to cross-index his information in her file would come back to haunt him someday.

"It's next week – she's almost an April Fool baby. Listen, I need your help to plan something for her."

"Yeah. Planning is good. What though? Is this sort of like Christmas with the gifts?" Willy asked frantically, his faith in understanding the female psyche in this matter completely shot and now clinging to the words of wisdom of a gay man.

Reggie sighed into the phone, realizing that Willy was clueless, "Listen, why don't Spencer and I plan and we just tell you what we've got in mind and what we need from you."

"Yeah – but back to the gifts? What do I get her? Bath salts? No, then she'd say I thought she stunk…um…how about jewelry? No, then she'd think I was trying to buy her off…lingerie? Ugh! Then she'd accuse me of a one track mind. Reggie – help!" Willy was starting to hyperventilate.

_This is my chance to remind her of what she means to me and all I can think of are clichés_, Willy realized in horror. _I'm going to offend her and she'll call off the engagement and she'll never want to see me again._

Reggie was stuck between disbelief and laughter. Willy was panicking over something as simple as a birthday gift? What would he be like when it came to putting together a wedding? Better not remind him or he'd pass out…

"Quit that panting, you're turning me on," Reggie said calmly.

There was a horrified silence on the other end until Willy squeaked into the phone and Reggie finally did have to laugh, "Willy, I'm joking – take a deep breath."

"Alright. This is what I'm going to do for you. You're coming over here tomorrow afternoon and we're going to look online to figure out something for my sister," Reggie said in a firm and reasonable tone, "I'm not going to inflict you on her in your current state and God only knows what you'd grab if you shopped on your own. We can plan the rest here while she's holed up with her gang. Will that work?"

Willy managed a deep breath while his panic abated, "Yeah. That will work. I'm bringing Charlie since I know he'll want in on the planning and it's a Saturday, so no school."

"Right, how does noon sound?"

"Great. See you then," Willy hung up the phone, feeling dizzy from all the breathing.

Veronica's birthday was next week and she'd never even mentioned it. She had probably been so wrapped up in her planning that the days had slipped by again. Well, as her duly appointed spouse-to-be it was his responsibility to see to it that she got what she wanted in a birthday, even if he had no clue what he was doing.

After all, clues were what Reggie was for.

This was an opportunity, he thought, trying to psych himself up for the event. An opportunity to show her how much he utterly adored her, how much he needed her, how much she'd changed his life for the better and made him a better man just for having shared what time he has had with her.

Rather a lot to ask for his original idea of bath salts.

With a frustrated growl, Willy batted at the mouse on his desk to wake the computer up. Opening the desktop he began to surf, looking for ideas for the perfect gift.

He was going to do this right even if it killed him.


	67. Chapter 67

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Kids are still sick, my bucket of warm vomit runneth over and things at work are busy – I'd like to cash in my reality check please! – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 67**

After a night of bad movies, popcorn and a personal comfort, Willy patted himself on the back for getting Veronica to sleep in. Warm and sleepy in his arms, every time she made a move to awaken, he'd stroke her hair until she fell back asleep. Veronica finally regained consciousness at nearly 11 a.m. and practically threw herself into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

"Why didn't you wake me? I need to be home right now getting ready for a trial run in the kitchen!" she wailed through a mouth full of toothpaste. He was impressed with her multi-tasking – brushing teeth with one hand, stripping off pajamas with the other and turning on the water with one foot.

Willy, who had woken at his usual time, watched preparations with an amused eye, hands tucked into his robe pockets, pageboy haircut neatly combed, "You looked tired, sleep was more important. Besides, no one is there yet – Smi-Li's keeping an eye on the camera. If anyone had shown up on your doorstep, I would have woken you up."

She snorted and Willy took the moment to enjoy the unselfconscious view as she stepped into the shower_. Lovely…but a few more pounds wouldn't hurt…_

With that thought, he moved away from the bathroom to call down for breakfast to be delivered to his room. She could claim she wasn't hungry all she wanted, but if food was actually present, it wouldn't go to waste.

He was just pouring out a cup of coffee for her when she stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed in typical cargos and tee, drying her hair roughly and making it stick out in all directions. Distracted, she knelt, peering under the bed for a lost sock when her nose informed her that food was waiting.

She poked her head up over the bed and Willy had to stifle a laugh, she resembled a meerkat on the Serengeti.

"Do I smell bacon?" she asked eyes wide and shining.

Smirking to himself, he took one of the firm cooked slices, ran it under his nose, rolling his eyes in pleasure and took a delicate bite, the crispy sound carrying clearly across the room.

Whimpering, she crawled across the bed and practically fell on the waiting feast – scrambled eggs, home-style potatoes, crisp bacon, a dish of fresh fruit and hot steaming coffee.

He enjoyed watching her, the motion of her lips and teeth, the delicate fingers as they plucked fruit from the dish to eat without silverware. He found the small sensuous noises of enjoyment, the small whimpers and sighs so satisfying that he completely forgot his own meal to enjoy the experience more.

"What?" she asked, holding one hand over a full mouth and blushing slightly.

"Just feeling slightly envious of that grape you're working on," Willy said with a devilish grin.

The blush continued as she leaned forward, brushing the fruit against her lips in an unmistakably sexy way before reaching across to lay the cool fruit against his lips. "Try it. They're delicious." She said softly.

Raising an eyebrow, he opened his mouth allowed her to pop the grape inside.

She next offered a small chunk of pineapple – fresh from his grove in the heart of the factory.

He grabbed her hand and took his time nibbling the chunk from her fingers, eyes locked on her face and internally gleeful every time she caught her breath as his teeth nipped at the juicy fruit. Bob purred in pure masculine delight as her face flushed, lips parted and eyes darkened in desire. He finished by sucking the remainder of the drippings from her fingers.

"Aren't you running late?" Willy asked innocently.

She shook her head, "You are far, far too good at that. You're not going to get off that lightly – getting me all hot and bothered then sending me on my way…"

He was half expecting her attack, but was still surprised as they fell backward in the chair, arms and legs entwined. Willy was on the bottom and he caught the brunt of their combined weight hitting the floor.

"Oof! Hey watch it!" he protested. His legs were still hooked over the seat and her thighs had him pinned in.

"Ooh. Poor baby – let me kiss it and make it better," Veronica pouted, eyes dancing with glee.

She proceeded to do just that.

Willy was quite happy to let her.

Things were getting quite heated when the intercom sounded, "Won-Ka?"

"Ignore it," Willy muttered, head buried in the crook of Veronica's neck and shoulder, hands under her shirt running along the smooth column of her back.

"Won-Ka? Ver-Oni-Ka's workers have arrived – you told us to let you know."

"Bugger," she swore softly before pushing herself upright despite his best efforts to keep her where she was.

"Crud," he said, lying on his back and watching Veronica regain her composure_. You know, this wasn't too uncomfortable, laying/sitting like this… _He took the moment to cross his ankles, looking as if sitting relaxed in the chair 90 degrees off kilter was the norm and everyone else was out of whack.

"We're not finished. Rain check for now?" she asked, collecting her shoes and slipping them on her feet.

"Guess so. Darn reality."

She collected one last kiss before whispering, "Tonight."

"Tonight. Have fun! Remember that outright bribery works better than beatings."

She grinned and was gone.

Willy sighed happily and rolled out of the seat, setting it back upright and collecting the remainder of their breakfast to set outside the door for later collection.

He dressed and was just pinning his shirt when Charlie knocked and poked his head in, "Ready?"

"Charlie! You should wait for the invite – I could have been naked and you would have been forced to claw your eyes out in horror," Willy said nodding at his reflection and gathering up his top hat and cane.

Charlie snorted, "Are you kidding – I live in a small shack with four old people and my parents. Privacy is a luxury. I met Veronica on the way out so I knew you'd already be up. Besides, nothing can beat Grandpa George getting out of the bath for sheer eye-clawing horror."

They both paused, lost in thought for a moment before shuddering.

"Ew. Well, let's be off – so much time and so little to do….sorry…strike and reverse. Onward!"

--

The occupants of the dark van, parked just out of sight of the factory, watched as the Wonkavator emerged from the dark recesses of the factory and soared off into the bright sky.

Victor clenched his teeth at the sight. The bastard even had special transport for getting around.

"Follow him," he ordered shortly to the driver.

"What about the woman? Aren't we supposed to be keeping tabs on her?" asked the man working the surveillance equipment.

Victor glared at him, "You're assigned to do what I tell you to do. Move it."

The driver was silent but between Victor hissing out directions, one eye kept on the aerial craft, the other on the road they managed to tail the Wonkavator to a four story brownstone. The address told Victor that this was Veronica's brother's apartment – the fairy.

"Drop a line and get me ears inside – I need to know what's going on up there," Victor ordered, not taking his eyes off the shining glass box.

The men exchanged a look, but set into motion.

A few moments later he was alone in the van.

Victor had never talked about his past much. It was understood that he came from a bad neighborhood and grew up in poverty – that much of his marketing had been true. But much of his teen years had been taken up by running errands for various parties – the mafia, gangs, and drug dealers. He'd learned his networking skills by the skin of his teeth and the price for failure would have been a bullet in the head if any of his contacts got word that he'd double crossed them somehow.

By the time he was in high school, he'd moved up to the occasional debt collection, but it was Papa Giadino, head of one of the families in the old neighborhood back in New York that had brought him up sharp.

"_What? You wanna be a bum all your life? A wise guy? You got a God given gift for cookin' and all you want to do is go out and break legs? Get your skinny ass to a good cookin' school – don't worry about the bill – and get outta here."_

Good old Papa Giadino. The man had saved him from an early grave - that was for sure. It was worth it to see the pride shining on the old man's face when Victor came back to the old neighborhood to cater his Goddaughter's wedding a few years ago before he'd passed on.

Victor felt a moment of shame knowing that the old man – God rest his soul – would have frowned down on his actions over the past couple of months. Still – old habits die hard and sometimes old skills came in handy.

The competition would hammer a nail in Veronica's coffin and probably make his new employers that much happier being the sole owners of the candyglass recipe. But something special had to be done for Wonka – something old school.

The man thought he was so untouchable up there in the factory, like he was some king of the hill. Well, he'd just have to see if that was the case…

The men returned to the van and took up their positions – the driver in the front, cap tilted low as if sleeping, but keeping a watchful eye on street and foot traffic, the technician in the back with headphones on listening in.

"Okay – we've contact. Sound like they're planning a party for the girl. They're settling in for a long stay it sounds like. Are you sure you want to stick around?" the technician asked.

Victor didn't trust these two any further than he could throw them.

"Nah – I'll walk to the underground and take off from there. Keep an eye on things until he heads back and call it a day," he said, sliding open the door and stretching.

The door slid shut and Victor moved off with purpose – he had a few errands to run and a delivery to make…

--

"No, no, NO! What are you thinking?" Spencer cried, looking over Willy's shoulder at the computer screen.

The screen in question showed a well known kitchen supply store and a variety of butane torches sufficient for candy making purposes.

Willy looked defensive, "I was thinking of something she'd use, not just throw into a closet and forget about."

"Let me get this straight. You want to get your fiancée, the woman you love more than life itself a _blow torch_ for her birthday?" Reggie asked incredulous.

Even Charlie looked a bit offended at that.

"Unless you think a good set of knives would go over better?" Willy said in a small voice.

Charlie groaned, shaking his head.

Spencer placed a friendly hand on Willy's shoulder and felt the man tense under his touch, "Willy – you are the creator of such fanciful delights. Why are you suddenly going practical? Do you want to invite her to practice on you with these tools?"

Spencer had gotten the cast off the previous week and was wearing sweatpants with a thick elastic band stretching around both ankles. It was part of his physical therapy to strengthen weakened muscles and coordination to wear the band for up to two hours a day walking around. He moved away from Willy to make another lap around the apartment under Reggie's watchful eye, "She's bloodthirsty enough without giving her more tools to wreak havoc."

Willy shook off the hand and got up to pace anxiously – this was worse than high school exams!

"Okay – lingerie is out. Bath stuff is out. Liquor is out. Now cooking stuff is out. What else is there that she'd want? I don't know what else to get for a girl!"

"Quit thinking of her as just a girl," Charlie suggested. "I wouldn't want to get Meggan McGillicuddy the same thing I'd get my Mum."

Three sets of eyes met his.

"Who's Meggan McGillicuddy?" Willy asked suspiciously.

Charlie decided his shoes were the height of entertaining and a faint blush stained his pale cheeks, "Um..just a girl in my class. I'm taking her to the Spring Fling."

"You're going to fling a girl? Boy, things have changed since I was in school," Willy said mildly.

"Charlie's got the right idea. Veronica isn't just any generic girl – she doesn't go for any of that fru-fru stuff," Reggie said.

Spencer looked mildly offended, "Fru-fru? I'll have you know that you just don't have an appreciation for some of the finer things in life."

Rolling his eyes, Reggie rephrased his answer, "Fine. Veronica does not share an appreciation for the more overt displays of feminism. Bloody happy?"

"What are you getting her?" Willy asked Reggie.

"The usual – her favorite snack food in a nice package and classic bad movie," Reggie said. "I have to admit, since her apartment burned down it makes getting gifts a lot easier. I don't' have to try and remember which titles I'd already gotten her."

"You?" Willy asked Spencer as he passed for another lap.

"I _am_ getting her lingerie. I have some taste and actually know her sizes. I also have the added bonus of not having an ulterior motive and get away with that sort of thing," Spencer said smugly.

Willy was getting nervous, "Charlie?"

"Bath salts – same bonus as Spencer," Charlie said from his perch on the couch.

Willy leaned back in the computer chair with a groan – everyone had a gift but him!

"Ugh – I just want to get away from all this," he moaned, twirling the seat with hands over his face in frustration. "Someplace with tropical sands and warm water lapping at the shore or maybe some sort of ski chalet in the mountains with snow or something…"

"Here. That's brilliant," Reggie said with a smile.

Willy peered at him, "What are you talking about?"

"A holiday – just you two. Away from the world and the rest of us for a bit."

"That would be lovely," Spencer said thoughtfully, "After the competition so she could really relax."

"I don't think I could leave the factory again so soon, right Charlie?" Willy asked, confident in his stand-by excuse not to go anywhere.

"Actually – I think a vacation would do you some good," Charlie said to Willy's disappointment. "It would be under more controlled circumstances as last time."

Willy shot an annoyed look over at his heir, "Thanks Charlie."

The more he thought on it, the better the idea sounded though. Just Veronica and him, alone in some exotic location…

"How about a choice for her – two envelopes with different locations in each," he said slowly, thinking out loud. "Our own Caribbean island in one and someplace like…Tibet or Switzerland in the other… I'd let her chose one and that's where we'd go – and I'll save the other location and set up for the Honeymoon!"

Reggie and Spencer grinned at each other and shook hands in a congratulatory way, "By Jove I think we've done it!"

Charlie was grinning at his mentor, "See! It wasn't that difficult to come up with a gift when properly inspired was it?"

Willy ignored him for the moment, "So, are you sure she doesn't want the big party with all the trimmings? Just a get-together in the factory?"

Reggie nodded, "Veronica's really not one for crowds or attention – it'd make her uncomfortable."

"Alright – you're the subject expert. "

Willy glanced over to the kitchen and was startled to note the time, "Gobstoppers! Charlie we've got to get back – your Mom's gonna skin me if I make you late for dinner again."

Charlie rose and walked over to join him at the door. Willy was startled to note that the young man was almost the same height now. Still long and lanky, but now there was a growing confidence as well that spoke well for how he'd turn out as an adult. The growth spurt must be recent, judging from the distance between his shirt cuff and wrist and the gap between his shoe tops and pant cuffs.

"Thanks for having us," Charlie said, shaking Reggie's hand and accepting a brief one-armed hug from Spencer.

"Thank you. I appreciate your help," Willy said sincerely. "No way could I come up with that on my own."

"Nonsense, just doing our bit to keep my sister happy. She'd be miserable and hanging out here sniveling if she had to give you the boot," Reggie said cheerfully.

They said their farewells and trudged up the stairs.

"So where are you thinking of going?" asked Charlie pushing open the door to the roof.

"Not quite sure – someplace quiet and where we can get privacy. I'm thinking hot and cold – one of each," Willy said, fishing his keys out of his pocket and fumbling for the alarm.

The Wonkavator waited patiently in the bright light of the late afternoon. Shadows hung blackly in contrast to the bright sun, dark pools around the turbines and antennas of the building and around the foot of the Wonkavator itself.

Willy squinted at the Wonkavator for a moment. There was an extra bump leaning against the back of the glass box that seemed out of place and he paused, holding out an arm to prevent Charlie from drawing any closer.

"Charlie – go back inside," Willy ordered, face blank.

"What? Why?" Charlie asked, tripping over his feet in sudden alarm as he backed away from the Wonkavator.

Willy whirled and threw himself at the boy, grabbing his arm and opening the heavy steel door of the staircase and shoving him inside.

Then the bomb went off.


	68. Chapter 68

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. In defense of Mr. Wonka, I have, in fact, received both a set of knives and a butane torch for my birthday a few years ago – and love both! Very trusting, my hubby… – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 68**

Muffled voices wobbled painfully through Charlie's head. He was lying uncomfortably on something and someone was feeling his neck. His nose burned with the smell of smoke and some sort of sharp chemical smell…like cat pee or something similarly unpleasant.

_Mr. Wonka doesn't allow pets, Charlie thought_, confused.

Someone was calling his name from far away.

"Aw...Mum! Let me sleep in a few more minutes…," he mumbled thickly.

Why was it so hard to wake up? He was normally bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as soon as his eyes were open in the morning.

_Why would I have a bushy tail?_

Ah…his eyes weren't open. There was the problem.

With great effort, he managed to open his eyes.

Reggie was crouched next to him. He realized at that point he was lying on the stairwell and made a move to sit upright. The man gently held him down, 'Don't move Charlie – help is on the way."

Reggie sounded as if he was trying to speak through layers of thick cotton wool.

"Did I fall down the stairs?" Charlie asked, glad not to have to move. He ached all over and his throat felt rough. He also smelled smoke.

"No. Just lie back," Reggie said, trying to smile through pinched lips.

"Where's Willy?" Charlie asked, a memory trying to bat through his confusion.

Spencer appeared in his field of view, holding a cordless phone to one ear, "They're on the way. Where's Willy?"

Reggie leaned over to say something to Spencer in a low voice, but Charlie couldn't hear through the high-pitched ringing and cotton wool that muffled his hearing.

Spencer nodded and gave Charlie a bright smile that was all too similar to his mentors when nervous, "Right then, I'm staying with you for right now Charlie while Reggie goes and takes care of Willy. We're waiting for the EMTs to come check you out."

Reggie grabbed what looked like a small gym bag and stepped over Charlie's prone form on the staircase to climb the short flight of stairs to the rooftop.

Charlie dared to angle his head to watch his progress. Reggie was grim faced as he approached the steel door. Pushing against it, the door creaked and groaned but refused to open. Leaning back, Reggie kicked the door open with a squeal of protesting metal about a third of the way and another heavy kick opened it the rest of the way letting in a bright band of sunlight and a thick cloud of black smoke.

"Willy?" he heard Reggie call from outside.

Charlie turned toward Spencer anxious, "What happened? What's burning? Where's Willy?"

Spencer took Charlie's hand carefully and patted it soothingly, "Just relax and try not to move. I'll tell you when after you take a deep breath and calm down."

Charlie gritted his teeth in frustration and fear, but forced himself to take the deep breath, feeling a deep ache in his chest as he did so.

"We're not sure what happened. We heard the door open, you two were talking and then there was an explosion. We think that you got thrown down the stairs by the blast. Reggie's looking for Willy now," Spencer said, trying to keep his voice calm.

Charlie gasped and tried to push himself up, "Willy!"

"Lay back – you might have a snapped neck or back. Wait until they look you over…" Spencer protested.

Charlie ignored him and managed to roll over and start to scramble up the stairs. His shoulder protested the movement and he almost threw up, but got upright to stagger up the stairs.

Spencer wrapped an arm around his waist, "Here, settle down. You'll hurt yourself worse."

The gentle man helped Charlie up the stairs, and they both coughed as they passed through the smoke. Sirens wailed in the distance steadily growing closer and a variety of car alarms surrounding them set up an aural cacophony.

An amazing amount of tiny fragments of glass were scattered around the rooftop and the smoke was coming from a twisted chunk of blackened metal about the size of big dog laying against the blackened brick of the building edge. Several other chunks of metal were scattered around a blackened hole in the roof. They crept closer and could actually look down into the apartment below. No one shouted at them in protest or agony so Charlie supposed no one was home.

Charlie's hearing was coming back, and he could hear the excited shouts of people below and the sirens grew clearer.

There was a groan from behind them and Charlie heard Reggie say, "Don't move you daft man, or you'll risk opening an artery."

Charlie whirled.

Next to the stair house on the roof, he could see Reggie's back poking out and Willy's boots, lying prone, protruding beyond them.

Charlie felt tears well up as his body went cold. He couldn't catch his breath and he realized he was panting and making small noises of distress.

Willy was hurt.

Spencer helped him over to where Reggie was working on his mentor.

Willy's wide violet eyes were open, but blank. Small cuts across the right side of his face added vivid splashes of color to the ghastly white skin. Bloody clumps of his hair clung to the side of his head and face. A small trail of blood from both his ears trailed backward to disappear into the dark auburn hair.

Reggie was focusing his attention on Willy's torso. There Charlie could see blood soaking through the thick material of the coat, making a mockery of the rich color by darkening patches of the vital fluid. Reggie had torn the jacket sleeve free to work on putting pressure on free-bleeding open wound.

"Willy?" Charlie pleaded, looking to the man for some sort of response. He wanted…no, _needed_…Willy to sit up in his usual chipper manner and make some comment about 'fine-tuning' the Wonkavator. Willy needed to magically banish the horror of this situation to the status of a mere nightmare to wake up from and laugh over while sharing a cup of hot chocolate.

But Willy didn't move, beyond a slow blink.

"Stay with me you bastard," Reggie growled, pressing a large wad of gauze into the wound and pressing his weight onto the wound.

Willy groaned again and managed to whisper, "Language…"

Charlie sagged in relief at his mentor's voice and tears started to stream down his face.

They heard multiple footsteps clattering up the staircase as the rescue crew arrived. Two EMTs guided a stretcher holding a large tackle box of medical equipment over to them.

"There was an explosion. They were heading back down the stairs when it happened. Charlie was behind the door and the blast knocked the door shut and him down the stairs. Mr. Wonka caught the worst of his injuries along his shoulder and back. One bleeder on the shoulder – I applied sterile gauze and pressure but haven't had the chance to check him out fully," Reggie reported, shifting to let one of the EMTs take over holding pressure on the wound on Willy's shoulder.

"You're kidding? Willy Wonka? Boy, this just gets better and better…" the man muttered, lifting the bandage briefly to inspect the wound.

Another team arrived and swarmed around Charlie, shining a light into his eyes, poking and prodding painfully and listening to his chest with a stethoscope all while asking questions. He must have lost track of things for a while because the next thing he realized, he was strapped into a stretcher being carried down the stairs and out the front door with an IV plugged into one arm without him even feeling it.

A large crowd had gathered behind police barricades and the flashing lights from all the police, fire and emergency vehicles were giving Charlie a headache. The crowd was oddly quiet, except for quiet respectful mummer as they watched Charlie get wheeled into the ambulance.

During the entire progress, Spencer had never let go of his hand.

"Where are you taking him?" he asked to the driver.

"St. Mary's – they've got a good trauma unit. Don't worry, we'll take good care of him," the man assured him.

"Charlie. They're taking you to St. Mary's. I'm going to call your parents and let them know what happened so they can meet you there," Spencer said, letting go of his hand and patting it reassuringly.

"What about Willy?" the teenager asked his dark eyes wide and dazed.

"I'll find out and have your parents pass it on. Worry about yourself for now. I need you to focus on getting better so you can trip the light fantastic with your lovely Miss Meggan. D'you hear?" Spencer said firmly, giving Charlie a tight grin.

The EMT injected something into the IV port as the doors shut, "Here, this will help you relax for now."

Charlie knew no more.

--

"Keep working!" Veronica called to her team moving around her kitchen with hard won choreography. Sandra and Michelle bumped into each other, nearly dropping the frozen tray of whipped mousse.

Veronica rolled her eyes but kept quiet as yelling at them wouldn't help anything.

Neville hummed under his breath as he worked, pureeing raspberries for his dessert in time with the music. Sandra grinned at him as she recognized the song and added a beat as she kneaded – slamming the dough in time and hummed along, both now bopping their heads in time with the tune.

Veronica felt her smile grow as she worked on her design on paper. It was a catchy song with a shameless beat.

Michelle, straight-edge and proper Michelle…she broke out into the first verse with a strong alto as she viciously pounded out the blocks of chocolate she needed for melting down. Veronica was pleasantly surprised, who knew the heart of a rebel lurked under all that Old Navy clothing?

She joined in on the chorus, and made a startling observation. No one was crashing into anyone else, no one was getting into someone else's supply and when they did have to move past one another, it was more along the lines of a dance move than an awkward shuffle.

The phone rang and she grabbed it without a second thought, "Hello?"

"Veronica?" came Reggie's worried voice.

"Yes? What's the matter you sound upset?" Veronica asked, plugging her other ear to hear her brother better.

"Something's happened," Reggie said hesitantly and she felt her heart freeze in her chest.

"Are you and Spencer alright?" she asked, leaning against the wall to support her weak knees.

"Yeah, we're fine – but Willy and Charlie were here for a visit. They were on their way out when there was an explosion on the roof …"

Veronica dropped the phone with a cry, sliding down the floor, both hands clenched over her mouth as involuntary tears started down her cheeks.

It was as if the world had paused around her – the questioning looks of her team, the setting sun outside the window, the sweet smells of cooking all impressing themselves on her mind as the single worst moment of her life.

Sick horror and disbelief rocketed through her and she felt like she was going to throw up, pass out or both as the thought of losing Willy hit her hard.

Sandra rushed over in concern, "Veronica?"

Shaking her head, Veronica scrabbled for the phone with shaking hands.

"How bad are they hurt?" she croaked, terrified that he'd tell her the worst.

"I don't know. Charlie's parents are on their way and I wanted to let you know so we can pick you up on the way. We'll be there in 10 minutes."

"I'll be ready. Thanks Reggie," she said numbly and hung up.

"Oh God!" she whimpered, curling into a ball of utter misery and sobbing. Willy was hurt! Charlie – that sweet innocent kid was hurt too! How could this have happened?

"What's going on?" asked Sandra's no-nonsense tones.

"Willy and Charlie were hurt in some sort of explosion at my brother's building. They're picking me up on the way to the hospital in a couple of minutes," Veronica managed between sobs.

"Oh dear! Right, well you get your bag and coat. Neville? Be a dear and start getting things shut down. Michelle, could you lob that roll of dough into the freezer for me. We need to get out of here so Veronica can concentrate on her young man," the older woman calmly ordered her colleagues, keeping an eye on the shattered woman.

"What if he's….if he…" Veronica whispered, eyes locked on some terrible inner vision. There was no way she could keep going if Willy was gone forever – she wouldn't want to.

"Stop that right now. No use worrying about what might be when you're not even sure what's going on," Sandra said, clasping the younger woman's hands in her own and meeting her shocked eyes.

"Don't worry about things here. Just let us know what's going on when you get more information. You need to be with your man right now," Sandra said in a low tone, pitched to her ears alone, stroked Veronica's engagement ring with a knowing finger, "No matter what happens."

Veronica nodded, and shakily pushed herself to her feet, "Thank you."

Neville handed her the keys, "We'll lock up on the way out. Good luck kiddo."

Veronica grabbed her beat up wool coat and rushed out of the apartment and down the stairs.

A flurry of flashes and press met her at the door, pressing in with new frenzy as if sensing her new weakness, "Ms. Carmichael? What happened? Is it true that Willy Wonka has been hospitalized? Was it a Wonkavator mishap?"

She slipped on her dark sunglasses, mitigating the flashes and saw Spencer's car pulling up behind the crowd with Reggie at the wheel. She moved forward and pushed passed individual reporters, even as they tried to follow her, "Ms. Carmichael? Is there any truth to the rumor that you and Mr. Wonka are engaged?"

She pulled open the back door and dove inside, holding up her hand against the renewed flashes, "Go already!" she shouted, fighting against one beefy man to close the door.

The car moved off and Spencer turned in his seat to look at her, "Right, this is what we know. They were up on the roof when something exploded. Charlie got flung down the stairs and got pretty banged up. Willy caught part of the blast up on the roof – although it looked like the stair housing protected him from most of the shrapnel."

Veronica whimpered again, gnawing on one clenched fist as the news hit her.

"Willy was starting to come around by the time they carted him off to the hospital – not making much sense, but still better than he was at first."

She nodded only slightly reassured and was silent on the rest of the ride to the hospital

--

The hospital room was dim and cold. The beeping of the heart monitor and thunk hiss of a ventilator were the only indicators that there was a living being present.

Willy's dark hair was still matted with dried blood, but a few small bandages covered his face and neck. Dark eyelashes shadowed marble pale cheeks and his usually pink lips were bloodless – his oddly pale pallor making him look as if he really were dead. There was a tube coming out of his mouth and held in position by tape on his lower jaw.

Veronica pressed her hand to the window, as if to touch him and feel his heat to tell her that he was alive.

"He's going into surgery in a couple of hours to repair the damage. Minor for the most part, nothing life-threatening – however there was some damage to his right Infraspinatus muscle and we're concerned that there might be some nerve damage to his right arm. He's having some difficulty with fine motor skills on that side," Dr. Mettu, chief of surgery explained gently to her. "We intubated him because his he was also initially having some problems breathing. We'll wean him off that after surgery – no use yanking it out, only to have to do it again for anesthesia."

His soft brown eyes and dark features reminded her of the Oompa Loompas and she made a mental not to let them know what was going on as well.

"May I see him?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. For a few moments. He might be disorientated, we've been giving him the good stuff for pain and to control his blood pressure," he said, opening the door and letting her inside the small ICU room.

Tentatively, she approached the bed. He looked so unlike himself – so still and worn in the plain white hospital gown. The florescent lighting did nothing but emphasis his awful color.

Gently, she took his hand, avoiding the one with the IV, into her own, "Willy?"

He slowly opened his eyes, staring at her blankly for a moment before recognition dawned.

She tried to smile but it hurt too much, "I'm here. How're you doing?"

Willy tried to smile at her, but it was a mere grimace, not reaching his eyes and he pointed at the tube coming out of his mouth with some urgency.

"It's helping you breathe," she explained, looking to the Indian doctor for confirmation.

Dr. Mettu asked, "How is your pain level, Mr. Wonka?"

Willy tried to shrug, but was forced to freeze with a gasp at the aborted movement.

Dr. Mettu grabbed the dry-erase board off the wall and set it on the bed by Willy's left hand, "I'm not sure if you're a rightie or a leftie, but here, try writing on this to communicate."

Willy scribbled on the board and Veronica read, _Works for now_. Veronica was pleased to note his handwriting was slanted in the opposite direction it usually was, but quite legible. Apparently he was ambidextrous.

He wrote, Pain _isn't too bad as long as I don't move, breath, think, or anything else. The drugs don't really take the pain away, they just make me not care as much_.

"If you two are alright for the moment, I'll leave you alone. Mr. Wonka, your nurse will check your vital signs in a few minutes, let her know if you need anything else," the Indian doctor said, and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

_How's Charlie?_ Willy wrote as soon as he heard the click. His eyes were glassy and his hand shook with the effort.

"Dislocated shoulder, a concussion and a few bumps and bruises. He told us how you shoved him in the stairwell first. You saved his life," Veronica said softly, pulling a hair out away from his eyes.

Her calm façade was slipping and her face crumpled, "I was afraid I lost you."

Willy's concerned eyes only made her tears come faster and she wiped them away angrily – furious with herself for being weak when he needed her the most. Willy's hand caught her own and he tried to bring it to his lips to kiss, but the tube got in the way. His eyes rolled in frustration and that familiar gesture was enough to make her smile weakly.

Grabbing an edge of the sheet, he wiped the board clean and started out with a new message, _Nah. I'm the proverbial bad penny – I'll always turn up_

Hesqueezed her hand, relaying his affection with his glassy violet eyes.

"What do you think happened?" she asked, going for the million-dollar question.

Willy closed his eyes, scrunching his brows in effort, then wrote _There was something….something not right with the Wonkavator. It was out of place in the shadows of the late afternoon…I think it was a pipe bomb._

"A bomb?" Veronica asked, not believing her eyes – she stared at him incredulous.

_I think so – I'm not an bomb expert though. I do know it wasn't the Wonkavator, __I am an expert on that__. Most of the damage could have come from a ruptured fuel line, but __nothing__ of the magnitude that I saw_, Willy wrote, opening his eyes to watch her face. His eyes were sunk deep in their sockets with bruised flesh underneath. He was shaking from the effort and she knew his energy was running low.

"I believe you. We'll just have to see what the investigators find. There was hardly anything of the Wonkavator left according to Reggie," she said soothingly, not wanting to agitate him in his current state.

For the first time, Willy's mouth quirked around the tube, _Yeah well, that's why I use tempered glass – it breaks cleanly instead of shatters_ he scribbled.

_Could you let Mic-Ka know what is going on? I know they're worried,_ Willy wrote

"Of course," she whispered holding his hand tightly.

I love you, you know, he wrote with a sigh adding a few hearts and flowers around the words.

"I love you too," she said, stroking his undamaged cheek fondly, smiling down at him.

Exhausted, Willy's eyes drifting shut for a moment.

She looked down at their clenched hands for a moment, sitting in silence and rallying her determination to tell him what she'd been thinking of while in the waiting room. The smile slid off her face as she spoke.

"I'm calling off the competition, Willy."

His eyes flashed to hers, and he shook his head vigorously.

"You've been hurt, so have Charlie, Reggie and Spencer – not to mention what happened to me…"

_**No!**_ Willy wrote in huge letters, circling the word several times for emphasis.

"It's too dangerous – we've all now been hurt and the damage is escalating. I can't press forward with this knowing that the next step is going to get one of us killed," she insisted, trying to make him see reason.

He sighed and she felt guilt for pressing him on the issue when he was in such pain.

_You can't give up now. If you do – Slugworth and Victor win. _

"I don't care anymore – what good is winning if the price we pay is your life?" she cried.

_The price of you quitting is being haunted for the rest of yours. My safety is something I willingly risk for you and I know the rest of us feel the same way. We're not being stupid about this, but we know the risk is there. It's not your choice to protect us by quitting – we're going to be at risk anyway. However, It is your decision whether or not to compete, but considering what we're willing to do for you, the least you could risk would be failure._

Stung at the rebuke, she glared at him, "That's not fair."

Willy sighed again and rolled his eyes, hand shaking from the effort now making his words tough to read, _Neither is what happened, that's life._

Truth was that she felt awesomely overwhelmed with the knowledge that the men in her life had willing placed their lives on the line for her without her even realizing it. It made her actions in the past seem that much more immature and selfish. Knowing it now gave her decision that much more gravity and she realized that backing out was not just about her anymore, or about trying to keep everyone safe. It was about defeating an enemy that threatened them all. A real team effort.

"Fine. I won't quit, but I'm beginning to see your reasoning about hiding out in the factory," she grumbled.

It was Willy's turn to smile at her_, _he wrote for a moment and turned the board toward Veronica._ I was wrong about hiding. It doesn't make problems go away, it just gives them time to grow and get stronger. Getting me out was the best thing you've ever done for me and I am grateful – although not right at the moment. Could you scratch my right knee? It itches!_

Despite her turmoil, a short laugh was startled out of her and she leaned over and wormed her hand under the sheets to dig her nails into the indicated area. His blissful expression was mildly gratifying.

The door opened and they were surprised to see a familiar face. The nurse that had been tending Reggie and Spencer at Charing Cross entered the room wordlessly, with clipboard tucked neatly under one arm to survey the machines and IV.

"Good evening Mr. Wonka, busy night I see. Your surgery has been moved up and you'll be going in a few moments. Ms. Carmichael, you'd best make your goodbyes." She said coolly, not bothering to meet their eyes. She made her notations on the board and left the room without another word.

"Okay – there's incentive to heal quickly like I've never seen," Veronica said turning to Willy.

His face was scared, either from the prospect of surgery or the nurse, it was hard to tell.

"Don't worry – you'll be fine. I'll be here when you wake up and nothing 'Nurse Ratchett' can say or do will stop me," she said fiercely, standing and kissing his cheek.

The nurse came back in, this time with a man dressed in head to toe green scrubs, much like Willy had been at Charing Cross, "Mr. Wonka? I'm Tim your anesthesiologist. I'll be taking care of you during the procedure. Are you ready to go?"

The man's face was friendly and professional, but Veronica got the idea that Willy was still uneasy, but he nodded and the nurse and the man raised the sides of his bed and unlocked it preparing to wheel Willy out the door.

She kissed his cheek again and whispered in his ear, "I love you – for better or worse, remember? Let's make this the worst we have to deal with? Okay?"

He nodded and gave her hand one more squeeze and meaningful violet gaze before he was wheeled out.

She was left alone in the dim room, now seeming so much larger without the bed or the large personality of the Chocolatier.

Veronica mentally slapped herself awake and left the room to call the factory and everyone else with an update.


	69. Chapter 69

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. Alton Brown and Food Network are not mine either. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton . No profit is being garnered from this work. Thanks go out to Kanikan for the constructive criticism. I rightfully got pinged on the classification for this tale, so as of this update it's now under "drama" rather than "humor." Kaytie – this one's for you. – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 69**

The camera zoomed onto the face of the blond man with wireless glasses perched on his nose; he nods to the camera, blond hair looking as if he'd been dragged backward through the shrubbery outside.

"_Good Evening! I'm Alton Brown and this is a special edition of Food Network Challenge. Tonight – two titans of the candy industry face off in a long standing grudge match. Veronica Carmichael, queen of spun sugar and partner of the legendary Willy Wonka against mighty Victor Brahm, chef to the stars, owner/operator of the international Dolce La Vita, and new face of Slugworth Candies."_

The screen showed two head shot pictures, both Veronica and Victor are in traditional chef's jackets, heads turned away from each other – a look of calm resolve on Veronica's face, a bright smile with invitational tilt to the head on Victor's

"_These two worked together last fall during the Confectionary Competition, but after the collapse of the center showpiece, parted company."_

There was slow-motion collapse of the sculpture cutting to Victor's furious face and Veronica's disgusted look as turned to leave the competition after getting fired.

"_The dispute grew as Carmichael formed a partnership with the reclusive candy magnate, Willy Wonka and Brahm formed his with rival Arthur Slugworth. Carmichael captured the world's attentions by escorting Wonka heir Charlie Bucket to charity events and bringing the new face of Wonka Inc into a larger world."_

Footage of Veronica and Charlie, walking red carpets and smiling for cameras – her sparkling smile and Charlie's infectious grin made flashbulbs go off like heat lightning.

"_Brahm came out with a series of visits to the "O" daytime talk show while balancing a grueling schedule of high-profile catering events before announcing his support of a new Slugworth product to be announced next month. The close hold information of what that product is supposed to be is the next-to-biggest secret in the candy industry."_

Footage showing Victor's appearances on the "O", flirting with the audience and cooking rapidly while talking to Miss O, cutting to celebrity weddings and post-award parties where pictures were snapped of the stars and Victor, looking quite dashing in a tailored tuxedo.

"_The biggest secret right now being, where is WillyWonka?"_

"_Tragedy struck a few weeks ago when Wonka and his heir were injured in an explosion involving Wonka's invention – the Wonkavator. _

News footage of black smoke billowing from the rooftop – confused mixed shots from different cameras of Charlie, strapped to a stretcher being lifted into an ambulance. Others of a cluster of EMTs around a colorfully dressed figure on a stretcher as it rolled out of the building and behind the protective cover of a parked fire truck.

"_Bucket was treated and released. But the status of the reclusive Chocolatier is unknown at this time and it is questionable if he will be here tonight as originally planned." _

"_Despite it all, Carmichael has vowed to push on."_

Back stage cameras showed Veronica giving last minute instruction to her team – dressed in dark green jackets with a golden W over the right breast. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and light make-up brought out the green of her eyes and lightly colored her lips and cheeks.

The camera cut to a similar scene on the opposite side of kitchen stadium –Victor addressing his team of three workers. All wore black jackets with the Slugworth patch on their right shoulders and Arthur Slugworth himself, in his natty charcoal grey suit, stood to the side watching Victor with a smug, pleased expression on his face.

_"The competition, as agreed by the two captains, is made up of four parts – fruit, pastry, chocolate and spun sugar."_

_"A fruit dessert worth 10 points to be served to the judges after one hour – then one worker per side is eliminated._

_"The second hour is a pastry dessert worth 15 points with another worker is eliminated."_

_"The third hour is a chocolate dessert worth 25 points with the final worker eliminated leaving the two team captains, Carmichael and Brahm, to complete a candy sculpture worth 50 points."_

_"The sculpture has to be at least three feet high, no inedible materials used. Proper techniques and kitchen hygine is worth 10 points as is taste. The lion's share of the points is for presentation. The judges will be basing their decision on execution, creativity and overall theme."_

"_The battleground? Kitchen Stadium. The stakes? Nothing less than the future of both of their individual companies. The prize? The loser's individual company and the recipe for the coveted CandyGlass co-created by both. Who will win this Olympian battle?_

"_This is Food Network Candy Challenge."_

--

"Okay – this is it. Remember what we practiced. Neville, you're out after the first hour. Sandra, you're next and Michelle, you're last. Don't hog the equipment and remember to communicate problems as they're discovered, rather than when they inconvenience you…" Veronica said, her face grim as the clock showed ten minutes to competition.

"Relax – we've got your back. Worry instead about who Victor called in as his ringers," Neville said, nodding in the direction of the small group on the other side of the kitchen.

Veronica shook her head, "No – I'm not wasting any time with that. What's done is done and I refuse to let him see me upset."

Within the small community of chefs specializing in various candy, it was easy to know each other.

Victor had tapped into her particular field and had managed to find one of the few people that knew her techniques inside and out…

…after all, he had taught her.

Across the kitchen, the older man saw her looking and waved merrily.

Jacques DuPane, Cordon Bleu instructor now based out of Paris had been her instructor in the art of spinning sugar. He was clueless to the politics of the field outside the walls of academia and had been snapped up by Victor to work for his team.

Victor looked to see who Jacques was waving to and smirked, giving a little wave of his own.

"Asshole," Sandra growled through a bright smile, nodding in their direction. "Poor Jacques doesn't know what he's getting into."

"Bridgette does though," Michelle said, indicating the tall, dark slender woman standing by Victor's side. The black woman had painfully short hair and huge liquid black eyes. "I heard that he's been banging her as soon as she demonstrated her talent with chocolate," she reported.

"Probably wanted to cement her loyalty," Veronica said cynically.

"What about that guy?" asked Neville, pointing to the short balding man with his back to them.

"I dunno. His name's Charles and he's supposed to be working fruit. Other than that, I don't know." Sandra said.

"Think Vic is banging him too?" Neville asked, sly grin on his lips. The discovery of Victor making appearances on various gay websites had thrilled him to no end.

Veronica snickered, "Who knows?"

There was a wave from Alton toward the front of kitchen stadium.

"Oops. That's the sign. Take your places." Veronica grinned at her team. She put on her game face and strode to the stairway that led to the raised platform where Alton waited with Victor and Slugworth.

Victor was looking smug as she climbed the stairs alone. Willy's continuing absence noted.

"Good Evening, Ms. Carmichael," Slugworth said silkily.

"Good evening, Mr. Slugwoth…Victor," she replied, giving her rival grudging recognition.

"Where is your sponsor for this event?" Slugworth asked, with mock innocence and concern. The two men eyed her predatorily, like two lions circling around something young and wobbly.

"Behind you," replied an unexpected familiar voice.

Slugworth and Victor whirled in alarm to see the dapper figure of the missing man in question. He had stepped out of the door from the control room.

Willy stood with glove-clad hands resting lightly on his familiar Nerds-filled cane, the gleam of the black and white swirled knob contrasting with the purple latex. He wore a bright red velvet frock coat with matching band around his black top hat. His clothes revealed no suspicious bulges of bandages or casts. He wore his dark goggles to protect his sensitive eyes from the glare of the hot lights overhead.

"Good evening Willy. You look well," Slugworth recovered first, covering his surprise with an urbane greeting.

Victor was struggling to do the same, managing to paste a smile across his face, "Mr Wonka. I'm glad to see you here this evening."

Willy stepped forward to take his place at Veronica's side, face showing contrived surprise, "You are? Where else would I be? This is the hot ticket tonight and I want to see the show up close and personal."

"Sir, it's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Alton Brown," said their host, a degree of surprise and awe in his voice.

"Alton – love your shows!" Willy said shortly, nodding to the blond man with a plastic grin.

The camera swung to face them and as the red light came on, Alton smoothly moved into 'professional' mode, "Mr. Wonka, as this is your first appearance in public since closing your factory, and rumors of your demise seem to have been greatly overstated, how are you doing tonight?"

"I'm just peachy! Thanks to the efforts of the medical community I'm better than ever. New and Improved - Wonka 2.0!" he chirped, his voice slightly higher than normal due to nerves, but only Veronica knew that.

"So what brings you out into the limelight after all these years?" Alton asked.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world, Alton. I have full faith in Veronica and her abilities and am here to show my support," Willy said, placing his hand on her shoulder. She looked at him fondly and patted his hand with her own. Alton saw the flash of gold on her finger.

"Any truth to the rumor of any engagements?" Alton asked, raising one eyebrow.

Willy playfully wagged a finger at the man, "Aw, Alton, you shouldn't have asked. I never guessed that you were interested. I'm sorry to break your heart, but I'm not that type of guy. I realize that I'm astonishingly handsome, a snappy dresser and can dance, but you really shouldn't read too deeply into stereotypes."

Alton blushed bright red and stammered, "Mr. Wonka, I'm married with kids…"

"Good for you! Best thing really…move on without me. Live a long full life and enjoy. I'll survive…" he sniffed mockingly and wiped an imaginary tear from his cheek.

Slugworth just rolled his eyes in exasperation while Victor stared at the strange man.

Veronica blushed prettily, looking down in embarrassment, but she didn't remove her hand from his where it rested on her shoulder.

"We're not here this evening to discuss such things," Veronica finally said firmly, dragging the topic back on track before Willy could break out into "My Heart Will Go On" and scare everyone away. "We're here this evening to lay all cards on the table and determine who the best candy maker in the world is."

Alton turned to Victor and Slugworth

"Victor, you're here representing Slugworth Candies with Arthur Slugworth – how did this cooperation come about?"

"It was a natural relationship to develop – Victor approached us with an idea for a product using CandyGlass and we're eager to make it happen," Slugworth said calmly, coming across as a more mature serious businessman than the hyper owner of Wonka Inc.

"That's right Arthur – I went to the company who could help me develop and market my idea without the secrecy or strange stipulations that others may have," Victor said smoothly, not even looking in Willy and Veronica's direction.

Veronica tensed - the one-two punch of claiming her invention and going to Slugworth to sell it off was hitting below the belt.

"Steady," Willy whispered from behind his plastic smile.

"And what is this idea?" Alton asked.

Victor looked directly into the camera and winked, "Stay tuned – once I win the competition, we're going to give Food Network a sneak preview."

Willy stiffened and it was her turn to sooth him by patting his hand as Slugworth looked smug, "Easy now – don't give him the satisfaction" she whispered back. "We both know who's going to win."

"Thank you both – Chefs, take your places, the competition is about to start," Alton announced. The camera cut off and Alton shook both Victor and Veronica's hands, "Good luck!"

--

Victor narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. _Engaged? Looks like the little gold digger is setting her hook_, he thought spitefully. Some of the little by plays and looks exchanged at the marketing meeting made sense now.

Seeing the man standing before him had been quite the nasty shock though. He hadn't been far when the bomb had exploded – down the alleyway in the back by the fire escape in fact. It had startled him badly when it went off so soon and he'd ducked the flying debris, taking shelter behind one of the dumpsters. Some of the flying glass had cut his hands.

Still the sense of warm satisfaction of a job well done upon seeing the billowing black smoke was well worth it. Even more so when Willy's famous black top hat had floated down to land nearby. It'd been beyond temptation to take it home as a trophy.

_So much for that_, he thought grimly as he approached his team. Somehow the bastard had managed to escape scot free. _How had he managed it? They wheeled him out on a stretcher_!

_Piss and moan later_, he reminded himself firmly, _work now_.

His team stood at attention at their stations facing Alton Brown. Veronica's team mirrored them.

"Contestants ready?"

He nodded. Veronica called, "Ready!"

"Begin!"

The six hour time clock started its countdown and suddenly the kitchen was a flurry of movement. Charles bolted for the refrigerator to yank the fresh berries and other fruit from their places as well as his other ingredients. Victor focused on him first after ensuring that Jacques was in fact working.

During practices, the spun sugar master had a bad habit of drifting off into daydreams and working at a lackadaisical pace that was ill suited for competition.

Seeing that he was pouring sugar to start melting, he turned toward Charles. Fruit was the first dessert up and Charles had carefully designed a lingonberry lemon mousse with a rich mango sauce to fit the timeframe and the elegance demanded. Seeing the camera swing his way, he vigorously started pulling the delicate stems off the fruit and dropping them into the bowl.

Time to look good.

--

After watching Veronica work for a moment, Willy quietly stepped back into the control room. Rows of computer screens and production equipment filled the room and the quiet chatter of the Food Network broadcast technicians filled the air. Willy removed his goggles, putting the wall at his back out of the way in a dark corner and watched the screens.

_I miss my television room_, he thought wistfully.

"How are you doing, Willy?" asked Charlie over the concealed earpiece under hat and hair.

"Aching pretty good right now. I had to get away from Slugworth or risk punching him in the nose," he whispered back.

His low voice was overlooked by the camera crews as they cut from shot to shot putting the production together.

"Dev-On says you're due for another dose of Wonkavite," Charlie relayed.

"I know – it'll have to wait. At least I'm up and moving normally, right?" he replied.

_Such considerable progress in so short a time_!

After waking from surgery and getting the blasted tube out of his throat, the first thing that Willy did was demand to know when he would be released.

Well, technically, the first thing he did was get a warm kiss from Veronica, but then he made his demands…

…And was ignored.

Outraged, he demanded to speak with the physician in charge.

Nurse Ratchett (actual name Phyllis) told him in no certain terms that Dr. Mettu had gone home and he'd just have to wait until he made his rounds the next afternoon.

Considering he was still feeling pretty lightheaded and in pain from the surgery, he was forced to back off for the moment and Nurse Ratchett had acted insufferably smug the rest of the day. In retaliation – he took a nap.

Veronica had stuck to his side the entire time, even telling the officious nurse to do something anatomically impossible when she tried chasing his fiancée away after visiting hours. Seeing her lovely face sleeping in the chair next to his when he had awoken filled his chest with a warm fuzzy glow.

Of course that could have been the morphine too.

When Dr. Mettu finally made his appearance, the man had been reluctant to let Willy leave so soon. Probably wanting to charge as much as possible for unappetizing green Jello with unidentified floating chunks in it, Willy thought cynically.

So with Veronica's help, he checked out AMA – against medical advice.

Sneaking out of the hospital had involved three vans, a wheelchair, a quick trip to the neo-natal unit and an ungodly ugly dress.

Dev-On had swung into action as soon as he was home and judicious applications of a hot herbal poultice to keep infections out and Wonkavite managed to get him to the point where he could look and act normal for hours at a time.

There was some scarring on his back and shoulder where shrapnel from the Wonkavator had tagged him – and the surgically repaired muscle didn't quite work as it used to, ranging the movement of his arm on the right side. But all in all, he was getting back to his old self.

Of course that didn't mean he minded playing up his injuries if he could scam a sponge bath out of Veronica.

The down side was as his body went through accelerated healing, he would eat like a horse and if not careful, would drop off asleep with narcoleptic ease.

"Still there?" Charlie asked. It was his job during the competition to make sure Willy didn't take a nap at the wrong time.

"Yeah – just thinking," Willy murmured.

"Better head out to the platform - Slugworth is looking a little suspicious. Guess he feels better if he can keep an eye on you," said Charlie.

Willy didn't reply, but pushed his glasses back on with a sigh and started toward the control room door.

"Mr. Wonka?" asked a young woman in the front row. She wore a headset and had shoved the microphone out of the way to address him.

"Yes?" he squeaked. He hated people just coming up and talking to him. Pushing his voice back down to a reasonable range he coughed and tried again, "Yes?"

"I have a question about one of the stipulations of the agreement between team captains. Apparently there was a condition that if workers were to be eliminated – as is planned – that a selection of music had to be played over the speakers to the kitchen," the nervous woman said.

"That was a statement. What's the question?" he replied haughtily.

"Where's the music? I mean – there's no CD, file or anything with whatever tunes we're supposed to play," replied the woman, flapping her hands in aggravation.

"Oh! I get it – you need the music," Willy said, slapping himself in the forehead and almost knocking his hat off.

"Yes, Mr. Wonka," the woman said, looking expectant.

"Um…Willy? The CD is sitting right here. You forgot to grab it on the way out," Charlie said over the earpiece.

Crap.

Then inspiration hit like a meteor.

"Umm…gimme a moment…" Willy said, holding up one hand in supplication as he frantically dug through various pocket.

She'd given it to him for safekeeping before the competition…It wasn't the same, but something had to be better than nothing, right?

Locating it, he hauled out a small poisonous green IPod – brand new and fully loaded with a wide selection of her favorite songs. He played with it for a moment before finding a good song list.

"Here! Hook this in and play "Shake n' Bake" song list first and scroll through the rest after that's done," he said, handing the young woman the IPod.

She looked dubious, "Are you serious?"

"I try not to be – it causes wrinkles," he replied with a grin before turning a walking out the control room door.

Slugworth was sitting in his seat at the small area set up on top of the platform. It was a way to catch the sponsor's faces while their champions worked on camera while they sat in comfort.

Willy took his own seat and relaxed as best as he could while feeling eyes crawling all over him.

"Feeling better?" Slugworth asked solicitously, the gleam of malice in his eye.

"Much thank you. Too many burritos for lunch – Whew!" Willy said with a grin, enjoying the man's recoil in disgust.

"Think you can slip him some of the broccoli flavoring into his water?" asked Charlie, his voice soft in his ear.

Willy smirked, but said nothing.

Loud pounding music suddenly blasted from all the speakers in Kitchen Stadium – startling everyone and making one of Victor's team members drop a steel pan of molten chocolate with a crash. Victor could be seen yelling something to his team, but he said was lost in a wail of electronically enhanced guitar licks.

"What the hell is that?" Slugworth roared in confusion.

"Bad Reputation Remix by Joan Jett," Willy yelled back, "Not my favorite version, but there's no accounting for taste."

Veronica paused and looked back at Willy. She gave him two thumbs up and a wide grin before turning back to her duties. Her team was grinning and heads were bopping to the beat.

"Turn that crap off," yelled Slugworth.

"Nope! Stipulation 12, subclause B of our contract for the competition – you get the worker eliminations and we get control of the stereo. Them's the rules!" Willy said smugly.

"Is this going to play for the entire time?" asked older man said in shock.

"No – I think there's some Gorillaz and Green Day thrown in there for good measure as well," Willy said thoughtfully, nodding in time to the beat and watching the action with intent interest.

Slugworth groaned.

It was going to be a long 6 hours.


	70. Chapter 70

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. Alton Brown and Food Network are not mine either. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. This is it - THE BIG FINALE. Thanks to all my readers for sticking with me this far and the support of those who left reviews. Without you, this story would have died on the vine and I'd still just be a reader rather than a contributor to – Stealth Phoenix_

**Chapter 70**

Victor gritted his teeth and bellowed over the pounding music, "Status?"

Charles just looked at him and pointed at the semi-finished mousse with his chin. The sauce was minutes from completion and the gelatinous forms had already been plated and just awaited the sauce and finishing touches before being delivered to the judges.

The quiet man had timed things perfectly – about 6 minutes before the deadline in fact. The desserts would be fresh and at the height of their flavor.

Things weren't going so smoothly on the other side of the kitchen. Veronica's team had fallen behind in this particular category when the ice-cream maker that Neville was relying on had crapped out. His heart had soared with glee when his shouted report caused her to cease her own preparations on the sugar sculpture to try and get the mechanism working again.

Their combined efforts had been for nil and they were stuck trying to come up with a modified recipe.

"Time," Victor called, jerking his thoughts back to present.

Charles delicately applied the sauce and dressed their offering with sprigs of mint and feather like tendrils of orange zest. Victor collected the plates and screwed on his most charming smile.

The Food Network cameras followed his brisk progress up the stairs to where the Judges sat. Four people, two in chef's jackets with various patches on them indicating their competition experience sat at a long table draped with crimson cloth. They sat waiting expectantly as he placed the small dishes before them. "Our first entry is a lemon mousse dressed with a mango-lingonberry sauce – please, enjoy!" Victor said.

The cool yellow of the mousse and its bed of warm red brown sauce looked amazing against the red of the tablecloth and the dressing of small mint leaves looked especially refreshing. Victor made a mental note to give Charles a small bonus if it pleased the judges.

Victor bowed slightly and made his way back down to his side of the kitchen, passing Veronica coming up the stairs with small crystal bowl of what looked like melting pink sorbet.

He kept the sneer off his face since the cameras were still on him and Victor couldn't afford to look ungracious to his competitor. Returning to the kitchen, he shook Charles's hand and clasped his shoulder, "Good work. You get a 2,000 bonus if it wins this round."

The bald man merely nodded and left the area. His part in this was over and he would wait for final judgment in the green room.

_Why can't all my folks be like that?_ Victor thought wistfully. Obedient, quiet and skilled – Charles was an ideal employee. Too bad the man wanted to return back to New Orleans right after the competition and had no interest beyond his small restaurant; Victor could easily use him at Dolce La Vita.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his kitchen. Brigitte was carefully stirring the molten chocolate, intent concentration and a little worry line between her brows.

Uh oh, he thought crossing over to her. "What's up?" he murmured into her ear as 'Enter Sandman' started blasting over the speakers.

"It's this Slugworth chocolate – it's crap," Bridgette said candidly, her dark eyes watching the trail of the wooden paddle in the dark mix scarcely darker than her own skin. "It's got a low cocoa butter ratio and low cocoa content – it's separating as soon as I get it heated. I keep adding butter to get it to gel, but it's not going to do so well for holding form. It's going to be like trying to build a sandcastle out of mud."

Victor glanced around, frantically making sure that the camera was occupied elsewhere, "Shut up! Do you want to piss off our sponsor? I don't care if it's made out of cat crap – just make it work."

Bridgette glared at him, her dark eyes simmering, "I practiced with Wonka chocolate – how was I supposed to know that Slugworth would replace our supplies with this…garbage?"

Victor leaned in close, making sure to keep a smile plastered on his face. His eyes and low voice promised nothing but menace, however, "If I hear one more complaint about the chocolate, you're going to have a little accident in the kitchen. Just make it work – do what you need to make it hold form – add paraffin. We're counting on you."

Bridgette frowned and slipped by him to stomp off to the supply cabinet where the ingredients for the competition were stored.

_Why can't they all be more like Charles_, he thought again wistfully.

He glanced over to where Jacques was bent over a pot. The older man was stirring the contents slowly, a dreamy expression on his face.

_What the fuck_?

"Jacques! What are you waiting for? Time is of the essence here," Victor snapped.

Jacques snapped out of his daydream and looked over to Victor startled, "I have to wait for it to cool naturally. If I speed this up it will become brittle…"

"You need to concentrate on making the forms so I can put it together once your time is up," Victor interrupted rudely, "This isn't your classroom, this is a competition. If you can't adapt, then get the hell out of my kitchen."

Jacques glared at the man, "Crafting sugar is an art, young man, it cannot be rushed."

Victor swung an arm to point wildly at Veronica, "What is she doing then? Are you willing to let one of your students surpass you? Are you that washed up already?"

The older man's face flushed red, but he returned his attention to the pot, stirring the molten sugar more rapidly now and muttering darkly in French under his breath.

Satisfied that Jacques was going to keep working, Victor turned his attention to his own project – the pastry. It was minor in points, but did much to reveal the skill behind the chef – and an added distracter to the competition since it really had nothing to do with candy.

Still, points were points. Thanks to his catering experience, he knew how to make dressy little puffs of delicate flakey pastry stuffed with rich cream and topped with rich chocolate. Victor cut and folded the dough quickly, mind on the competition ahead and easily tuning out the ear-splitting music.

_Amateur,_ Victor thought vindictively. _She thinks to throw me off using psy-ops tactics? She should come out to one of the opening night parties that the movie studios throw – this is nothing compared to that._

Grinning at the camera, Victor set to work_._

--

Veronica was in the zone. She didn't hear the music, the clatter of kitchen tools or the chatter of Michelle or Sandra as they worked around her. She didn't feel the sweat trickling down her back or the heat of the lamp against her skin.

Humidity was low, temperatures were cool and the sugar and special additives she'd designed were acting precisely how they should for the stage it was at. The beautiful coloring she'd added gleamed under the lights and there was an added bonus of golden flecks forming throughout the mixture.

Something like that would have sent her old master Jacques into a tizzy, foaming at the mouth. However, she liked the effect and could work with it.

She poured the mixture out onto the huge marble table in the center of the kitchen, ignoring the camera as it zoomed in on the other side. She let it set for a few moments while she checked up on her team's progress. Michelle was humming with the music and using an exacto knife to cut and trim her forms for decorations for the plates before her. Sandra was brushing her pastry with egg white and water, preparing to bake it. Things were exactly as they had practiced. No more equipment gaffs to trip these ladies up.

She slipped off the gloves and washed her hands. Then grabbing the can of spray oil, she spritzed her palms and returned to the marble slab. There was a gasp from Alton as she reached out and began to manipulate the barely solid form of the candy before her.

Veronica looked up in surprise at his exclamation, "What?"

"You're working it like play dough with your bare hands!" he exclaimed in horror, "The burns…"

Veronica gave a mysterious smile at the flustered man, "Alton, don't you know that every good chef has his or her secrets? This is one of mine."

Dismissing him from her mind, she began to mold the sugar into shape – forming a delicate body and head on a long sinuous neck, she pulled thick tendrils to form the foundation for wide wings to support the body.

Veronica had the image of what she was making pasted on the inside of her eyelids. For the past two weeks, she'd seen it every time she'd closed her eyes and it haunted her dreams with soft wings of flame. The rich colored material under her hand seemed to just flow into the shape she held in her mind with ridiculous ease.

Sandra tapped her on the shoulder and Veronica came out of her trance with a snap, "Huh?"

To her surprise, the allotted time had already passed and it was time for the next round. She was also alarmed to note that the scoreboard showed that Victor had beaten them in the fruit round by nearly 5 points. Looks like their impromptu recipe for berries and cream didn't go over well.

"It's time. Here's our offering," The older woman said with a smile. She glanced over Veronica's arm to survey the work in progress. "That's beautiful! I can't wait to see how the rest turns out – you've been so secretive with the design."

Sandra's warm matronly personality had provided comfort and stability during the practices. Her presence in the kitchen added order and a sense of home that Veronica felt was critical to how a good kitchen should work.

Veronica smiled and gave Sandra a hug before grabbing the plates with a beautiful puff pastry surprise on it. Balancing the plates on her arm, she carried them up the stairs to the judgment table. Setting a plate before each judge, she announced, "This offering is an old family recipe from Sandra Wentworth – a cranberry apple turnover with clotted cream."

As she spoke, Victor oozed up behind her and slid his own offering before the judges. His puff pastry had been formed into delicate swans cupping what looked like whipped cream and surfing on pools of berry glaze - much fancier than her offering.

"Cygnet Beignets with berries. Enjoy!" he said shortly before stumping off down the stairs.

Veronica felt upstaged, but rather than linger and seem like she was hovering over the judges while they tasted, she returned back to her station. She saw Jacques, snarling to himself in French, storm off to the green room without saying another word to Victor. He must really have angered the old man since Jacques was the kindest, most patient teacher she'd ever known. For a moment she felt sad before returning her attention back to her own side of the kitchen.

Michelle had constructed four plates of a tall chocolate soufflé with a rich white chocolate topping that waited a bit longer before adding to the soufflé at the last moment before serving. She concentrated now on finishing the delicate scrollwork of orange chocolate that would ornament each plate. It was time consuming work.

Veronica glanced around kitchen stadium, seeing that they were now half way through the competition.

Victor's only worker, Bridgette was laboring over something, her back turned toward Veronica.

Victor paused in his construction efforts of the candy glass showpiece to whisper something at Bridgette. The woman flinched, but refused to look at him and he turned away with a predatory smirk on his face. He noticed Veronica watching and the pretense of a smile dropped. For a moment, they merely stared at each other – daring the other to drop their gaze.

Sheer hostility radiated from the man and she was determined not to let him intimidate her. Little did Victor realize, but the camera was catching this seemingly uncharacteristic display to cut into footage later.

Finally, Victor turned back to his sculpture with a snarl of frustration and Veronica was left feeling like she'd escaped being mauled by a mama bear.

She glanced up at the sponsor's pen and felt Willy's concerned eyes on her. She smiled weakly and nodded at him. He gave her a small wave back, but could see his worry under the plastic grin.

Slightly shaken, she returned her attention back to her work, waiting under the heat lamps. For the next portion, Michelle and Bridgette would be delivering the plates themselves, so she could afford to lose herself in the work before her.

Turning on the butane torch, she slipped back into her work.

--

The cane creaked under the pressure of his fingers. Willy made himself unclench his hand, to stretch the fingers one by one away from the transparent plastic.

Slugworth glanced over at him, but only saw the flamboyant confectioner sitting stiffly upright, as if unwilling to relax into the chair as he had been since the beginning of the competition.

The rage in Victor's eyes - it was disturbing and not entirely sane. For a moment, Willy had feared that the man would throw himself on Veronica, ripping her limb from limb.

"So, Wonka – what's with you and the girl?" Slugworth asked playing with his glass of water.

_None of your beeswax_, Willy thought sourly ignoring the man.

"Pretty little thing – lovely colored hair. Is that her real color?" Slugworth wondered, watching the Chocolatier out of the corner of his eye.

Willy didn't move a muscle – keeping his breathing smooth and even.

"Of course, there's only one way to tell," Slugworth leered.

_Ignore him, Willy_.

"So tell me, is she as lively in the sack as she is in the kitchen? Victor seems to think so…"

_Grrrrrr._

"Victor has a great many problems – delusions of adequacy being one of them and apparently lives a very rich fantasy life as well," Willy said smoothly from behind gritted teeth.

"I can see why – I'm entertaining a few fantasies myself," Slugworth said, watching Veronica manipulate some molten candy on a pipe and blowing out the shape like a bubble. Of course with his mind in the gutter, it would look rather suggestive.

Willy entertained himself with thoughts of pushing Slugworth into a large cauldron of boiling candy syrup – detailed with screams and blistering flesh.

_Slugworth flavored lollies? Ew..._

Catching himself eyeing one of the butane torches longingly he shook himself out of that particular line of thought.

"You're a pig," Willy said primly to the older man who was leering at the woman he loved.

"Come now, my boy. If I had a little filly like that in my stable, I wouldn't be quite as sour as you seem to be. What's the matter – she not delivering her goods?"

Willy rolled his eyes behind the dark goggles.

_Right – enough of that._

"Hey look – what's Victor doing?" he asked, pointing and raising his voice in outrage.

Slugworth swiveled his head toward his champion, leaning forward and twisting to get a view through the myriad kitchen equipment blocking the way.

Lightning fast, Willy reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a small test tube with a few drops of clear liquid inside. He uncapped and dumped the contents into Slugworth's water smoothly before returning the test tube to its hiding place.

"He's using a soldering tool to attach that bit of ornamentation," Slugworth said indignantly.

"So why's he hiding behind the table then?" Willy asked petulantly.

"It's a short cord – why else? Do you really think the man's going to cheat using a soldering tool?"

"With you or him, anything's possible." Willy sneered, leaning back into his seat and resting both hands on his cane.

Slugworth snorted and gulped the rest of his water before returning the glass to his table with a thump.

"Do you know what your problem is Wonka? You're too uptight – no fun. If it's not something a five-year old would enjoy you wouldn't …oink!"

Willy swiveled his head toward the older man, "Excuse me?"

"You…oink!...never…oink! oink!" The older man covered his mouth with both hands and looked mortified at the animal noises escaping him.

"I'm sorry – please do speak up, I'm a bit deaf in one ear," Willy grinned at the discomforted man.

"OINK!" Slugworth glared at him accusingly.

"You were saying about me not knowing how to have fun? Well, I have to refute that statement and just say I know how to get my kicks when I need to," he said smiling.

Then the smile turned sharper, more predatory, "Oh, by the way – talk about my fiancée like that again and I'll do more than make you emit animal noises, 'kay?"

Slugworth sat back with a sullen expression.

"Excellent – now let's behave ourselves and watch what happens next. I do so love this part of the competition – the stress, the drama and the passion that goes into this makes for a great show."

"That was mean Willy," Charlie said softly in his ear, but he could hear laughter in the background and his heir's voice was colored with amusement.

Willy made some noncommittal noise, _just defending my lady's honor._

_--_

Michelle tapped Veronica on the shoulder to announce, "Taking up the chocolate. Good luck."

Veronica turned off the torch and turned to the American woman, "It's beautiful! Thank you Michelle – we couldn't do this without you."

Michelle grinned at her, "Anything to stick it to Vic – see you after the competition."

Balancing the curved plates of cream colored porcelain, she started to make her way toward the stairs. One the opposite sides of kitchen stadium, Bridgette was doing the same.

The tall narrow columns of chocolate were delicately balanced on the plates and she moved carefully, joining Michelle at the foot of the stairs. Unfortunately, one of the plates was angled too steeply on her arm for such movement and began to slip.

Trying to catch herself, she suddenly moved her arm forward, jostling Michelle's arm.

Almost in slow motion, Veronica could feel herself shooting forward with dumbstruck horror, "No!"

A electronic scream of guitars seemed the perfect soundtrack for the unfolding tragedy.

The plates tumbled from Michelle's arms to hit the ground with a shatter, throwing shards of glass and chocolate into the air. Bridgette's foot hit the mess and slid out from under her, jerking her knee painfully to the side as she tried to save her plates. Michelle, tripped over the falling woman and tumbled forward, headfirst into the staircase, palms thrown out to catch herself.

More plates hit the floor and shattered.

"Goddamit!" Victor swore from his side of kitchen stadium, eyes wide in surprise, hands grabbing his hair in frustration.

Veronica slid to her knees before the women, "Michelle, Bridgette! Are you alright?"

Bridgette looked up at her, tears running down her face, "My knee! Oh god it hurts!"

Michelle crawled to her hands and knees, "Ugh."

Alton was there and a few more of the Food Network employees, tending to the fallen women.

"Stop the clock," Veronica called, holding Bridgette's hand as the set EMT prodded her knee.

"No – keep it going!" Victor bellowed.

Veronica twisted to glare at him, "People are hurt!"

"So what? It's not either of us – keep the contest going. Unless you want to give up?"

Michelle grabbed her other hand, the woman's face was covered in chocolate and a scrape from the stair was on her chin, "Go. Don't worry about us, we're in good hands – beat that bastard."

"We've got them – go to it," said the EMT with a wink, in the act of wrapping an inflatable cast around the fallen woman's injured knee. "Nothing you can do right now."

Nodding slowly, she walked back to the sink and mechanically washed her hands again.

"Just you and me," Victor leered from across the kitchen. His façade was down and he seemed to have forgotten the cameras entirely.

"Just as it should be – no one else gets hurt," she promised, glaring at him.

Turning back to her station, she closed down her concentration to what was just in front of her – no Willy, no Victor, no time but the present. Her whole world focused on her hands and what needed to happen next.

As she worked, she slipped deeper into the creative trance than she'd ever gone before – to the place where imagination and reality was the thinnest.

She could feel it, the movement of the candy under her hands, the way that the heat gave life to her creation. Something within her was guiding her movement and she was no longer entirely sure that it was within her control.

It was the feeling she had when tasting one of Willy's creations – that special something extra that made the impossible possible. That gift that he shared to help others believe in and reach their dreams. That something…magical.

_It felt like joy._

Time seem to compress and lengthen and she was able to make every adjustment, every correction to detail to make the creature under her hands perfect. Feathers and licks of flames sprang to life under her scarred fingertips and a deep swirl of blue green water tipped with curling white foam seemingly frozen in time cradled the mythical bird rising from its depths.

Fire and water – rising from the ashes – her phoenix reborn.

The music cut out suddenly and a voice called from the loudspeakers, "5 minutes to judgment"

Veronica was jerked out of her trance again at the announcement and she stared up at the clock in shock.

"I've got to quit doing that," she muttered, using her soldering iron to fasten the last of the licks of flame to the wings of the great bird.

The detail was spectacular even if she said so herself.

On the other side of the kitchen, Victor wiped the sweat off his head. This was the last piece of ornamentation to attach – using the soldering iron like Jacques had shown him during practice, he glued the last flower on with a heavy hand. He trembled with exhaustion and nerves. The constant stream of things breaking and the terrible anticipation weighed him down and threw him further off balance.

Everything was riding on this one sculpture.

Standing up, he stretched his back and glanced over to her side. Then he froze…

…and knew he'd lost.

Veronica's sculpture was a bird caught in flight emerging from a crashing wave of water. The level of skill and detail made his contemporary piece seem graceless and ill conceived.

_No – I'm not giving up_. He snarled to himself looking at the scoreboard with the point tallies. Veronica's team had somehow managed to pull even with him during the pastry round – her lump of dough somehow appealing better than his elegant creations.

The chocolate round had been a complete failure – neither side making it to judgment. So the tally still held a tie.

"She still has to move it," Victor muttered as the horn sounded indicating the end of competition. He prayed to every conceivable deity and devil for bad luck to strike his opponent.

Food Network workers appeared, surrounding Veronica's magnificent showpiece. Two men, with careful chorography lifted her sculpture and with slow steps carried it to the presentation table at the front of Kitchen stadium where the judges had descended to wait.

One of the men seemed to stumble for a moment and there was a massive gasp from everyone watching as the showpiece wobbled.

_YES!_ Victor crowed silently, hope springing from his heart.

It held together and stabilized.

Hope plummeted like a meteorite.

The men carefully set the sculpture down and Victor had to bite a fist to prevent his scream of frustration from escaping. She had made it.

The two men approached his sculpture and Victor quickly stepped out of the way to allow them the room to work.

His head swimming with the strength of his emotions, he felt reason slip between his fingers. _If they can just make it with mine, I can bluff my way out of this. I can still twist this to my advantage…_

With the same care and attention, they lifted his sculpture and carried it to the judgment table. They had just set it down and were centering it when Victor's worst nightmare came back to life.

One critical joint, the one he'd been struggling with for the past 10 minutes before end of competition folded in on itself and the slow topple began.

There were cried of disappointment and a piggy squeal from Mr. Slugworth as Victor's sculpture collapsed to the floor.

"NO!" he screamed, tearing out chunks of hair in agony.

Staring at the shards of his sculpture, he was numb, even as he burned with chagrin.

His dreams of stardom – gone.

Money from Slugworh – gone.

Sweet revenge on Veronica – gone.

Nothing was left, he was ruined.

Even Dolce La Vita by terms of the competition was now in her hands.

Feeling all eyes upon him as he burned, he sank to his knees, staring at the shards. Burying his head in his hands, his shoulders started shaking.

"Brahm's showpiece has collapsed, making Carmichael the winner by default," said Alton Brown's voice from a million miles away.

Victor felt hands on his shoulders, "Victor?" asked Veronica's soft voice.

Veronica leaned over the broken man, sobbing into his hands. He made a strange cry and his shoulders shook harder.

Slugworth and Willy had abandoned their seats upon the sculptures collapse and joined the group of people standing beside the table at the foot of the stairs. Willy hovered behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder as if to draw her back.

"Victor – it's alright," she said, trying to calm him down, shaking off his hand to console her defeated foe

She never wanted this. Vindication? Yes. But not to break the man so he sobbed like a child in front of an international audience.

_Okay_, she admitted, feeling bad about it, _Maybe once or twice…_

"You are looking horrible on camera," she whispered to him, trying to appeal to his vanity.

Victor sucked in a breath.

"Horrible? I look horrible?" he asked shakily, muffled by his concealment.

He dropped her hands and she knew suddenly that she'd made a terrible mistake.

He wasn't sobbing.

He was laughing.

Deep in those bright blue eyes there was no one home.

Victor had lost his mind.

Throwing herself back, she cried out in alarm.

Quicker than thought, he snatched at her – pulling her close and ripping the gun he carried concealed under his jacket hard against her temple. It was a parody of a lover's embrace and she was cradled up against his chest, the gun cold against her skin.

"You want to know how I feel? What it's like to have your dreams shattered?" he giggled, climbing to his feet and pulling her up with him.

"Let her go," Willy said firmly, clenching his cane tightly. The Chocolatier's voice was tight with barely controlled rage or fear.

Victor backed away, the crowd clearing around him like magic.

"Looks like I win after all – and just look at the prize. Pretty little prize, all wrapped up in a bow. My very own golden ticket!" Victor crooned, stroking her head with the gun.

"Please let me go," Veronica whispered, closing her eyes tight and shaking in fear.

Victor felt her pressing against him and he felt strong, powerful, like he could do anything. _No wonder Wonka wanted her – she was magical – she was the source of his strength._ The world was swirling around him with a kaleidoscope of color and sound_. _

_What fun it is to ride – whee!_

"We'll fly away pretty little golden ticket," he promised, kissing her forehead and smiling down at her. 'No one will bother us ever again. The devil will never find where I hide you."

"Victor please. Let her go – you can have anything you want," Wonka pleaded, removing his goggles and throwing them to the floor. His strange violet eyes were bright with tears and Victor could now see behind the smiling mask he wore in public.

"Pay to play, play to pay – who is paying the tab today," Victor sang, pulling Veronica backward toward him by the neck. He playfully rubbed the little snub-nose .38 against her face and neck.

"What is it you want Candy Man? The prize? She's my prize and I'm not going to share," Victor snarled, jabbing the gun hard against her temple. Veronica whimpered in pain.

There was a clatter behind him and Victor glanced over his shoulder to see two uniformed police men holding guns on him.

"Police! Put the gun down and hands in the air - now!"

_This was it – the game was done and it was just a matter of how he wanted to take his prize now._

"Poor little Veronica. You win and lose all at the same time. Say goodbye to your Candy Man – there's no more sweets where we're going," He said softly, looking down at her bright hazel eyes.

Veronica said nothing, but he could see thoughts like quicksilver dancing in those bright eyes. _Maybe I can catch one_, he thought brightly, tightening his finger on the trigger.

"Willy…" she started to say, turning to the frantic eyes of her lover.

Her sharp elbow suddenly found itself planted in his solar plexus and she was gone, throwing herself toward the gaudy form of the Chocolatier.

"No! My golden ticket!" he screamed, pointing the gun at the pair.

Gunshot filled the air.


	71. Epilogue

_I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. Food Network is not mine either. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. Thank you for reading! I appreciate your words of support and suggestions. Special thanks go out to Yva – you're the best! – Stealth Phoenix_

**Epilogue**

It was quiet up on the hill under the peppermint tree. Sweet leaves provided a haven to those who rested under its branches – sheltering them from the outside world and those who would intrude on a moment's peace.

Willy sat upon the ground, knees curled up to his chest, cane lying beside him on the ground. His violet eyes were distant and sad. He stared off into the distance, not really watching the Oompa Loompa workers as they solemnly prepared for the ritual ahead. Flowers adorned the long table at the front where the center of the ceremony would take place.

Sherman watched his employer with a patient knowing gaze, understanding the larger man's pain – there were battles that one could win and those one could lose. Seldom did one get to choose ahead of time which was which. His employer had been subdued since returning to the factory after the fateful competition – secluding himself for long hours and driving himself hard. It was time to heal and let go.

Three months has passed – many things had changed, mused Sherman wearily, but others remained the same. Won-Ka would not forgive himself his failings, and he would never give up on him.

Sherman hiked to the top of the hill – the stresses of the past few months weighing heavily on his bones. He was feeling his years more than he wanted to admit these days.

Silently he seated himself next to the man and leaned back with a sigh – glad to be away from the preparations and fluctuations of emotions that went with things like this.

"Won-ka. This is enough. No one asks the impossible of you, so why do you demand it of yourself?" Sherman said finally after long moments of shared silence.

"Nothing is impossible," the Chocolatier said stubbornly, not taking his eyes as a particularly bright arrangement of flowers was arranged in front of the table.

Veronica had loved those particular flowers…

"Let it go," the older man insisted, "You are not doing anyone any good by brooding like this – she won't hold it against you to move onward."

Willy sighed, his eyes closing briefly in a spasm of pain, "If I'd only had enough time…"

Sherman patted the man's back sympathetically, "I know. It's something we all wish for – more time to love, to learn to live…but we have to make do with the time we are given. Do you really wish to waste yours with guilt over something that is beyond your control?"

A group of Oompa Loompa women in traditional dress passed close by the tree and the men were silent. The sniffling and tear-stained faces said more than they ever could.

"Forgive yourself," Sherman urged. "I forgive you and I know she does too. Do not disrespect her today of all days by failing to leave the past behind and face the future."

Willy sighed sadly but nodded, "Alright. I will for now."

"Good. I know she wouldn't want to see you like this," Sherman said, satisfied.

Willy climbed to his feet and brushed the swudge off of the seat of his pants. Glancing at his oldest friend, he commented, "Things are weighing on you as well – I see a few more grey hairs sprouting up."

Sherman shrugged, a half smile on the Shaman's face, "Age and wisdom come together – no one said that gaining either was pretty."

Together they traveled across to where the tribe gathered before the small alter in the center of the factory. Charlie and his family stood to one side and Willy took his place at the front, standing next to Sherman who was conducting the ceremony.

Seeing more tears being shed, Willy had to close his eyes to fight back the wave of guilt that washed over him once again.

This is all my fault.

A warm hand rested on his shoulder, "Stop it!"

Opening his eyes, he glanced over to the woman that stood by his side.

"Sorry. Just wishing…"

Veronica smiled gently at him, "I know – you needed more time. It's too late now, possibly for good. Let the future happen."

She looked beautiful in the simple soft violet dress that clung to her slim frame, her feet were bare and she carried a small bouquet of orchids. The warm copper chestnut of her hair pulled back and decorated with small fragrent flowers and the warm cream colored skin flushed a delicate pink with good humor. Golden freckles were scattered lightly across her arms and shoulders and for a moment he distracted himself with thoughts of counting each one.

Behind her, L.A. drifted through the waiting crowd, dressed in an ankle-length cream colored gown designed by Spencer for the occasion. Her face was serene and a mysterious smile rested upon her lips. The small cluster of traditional herbs was wrapped with a deep purple bow.

At the altar waited Tupik-Ra, dressed as a warrior and carrying a spear waited, love shining from his eyes.

The women of the village wailed softly - they really were sentimental at weddings. A few of the men were mysteriously bright eyed and blew their noses often, avoiding one another's eyes.

"All who come before us are welcome! We come together to bind this man and woman together – in the eyes of the Gods, of the tribe and the outside world which they of all of us straddle…" Sherman pronounced his voice deep and resonating.

Willy sighed again. He'd been working so hard since getting back to get those two restored back to their normal dimensions. Seeing them together had inspired him to greater efforts. Now it was too late.

He watched L.A. hand her herbs to Veronica as maid of honor, revealing the small bump in her stomach that currently housed the newest member of the tribe.

No way was he going to fool around with precious new life. It was a gamble already to see what size the child would even be without playing God in the meantime. He didn't dare risk the testing process on either of them when they were so happy where they were.

Tupik-Ra and L.A. hadn't wanted to waste any more of their life with regret and so they decided to stop him from pursuing the matter further.

But still the guilt lingered.

Veronica caught his eye and looked mildly exasperated at his lingering mood.

He grinned at her – thrilled at the secret way she could read his mood correctly and tell him off without ever saying a word.

He'd almost lost her again.

Without meaning to, his eyes grew distant and his smile faded as he recalled the horrible events of the competition.

She was tight in his arms and they had been braced for the terrible pain and numbness when they'd heard the gunshot.

Flinching, they'd clung tighter as if a simple physical embrace would ward off deadly lead and steel.

To both their astonishment, it had been Victor that crumpled to the ground – mad eyes wide and accusing, even as his lips moved soundlessly.

The police had kicked the gun out of his hand, even as the last breath of life wheezed from Victor's throat with the thin trickle of blood where the bullet had taken him through the heart.

Disbelieving – Willy and Veronica had stared at each other in relief and pure joy before throwing themselves into a passionate kiss that left onlookers with little doubt into their true relationship even as tears of shock and fear trickled down both their cheeks.

It had been the best ratings Food Network had ever gotten.

The competition had made the evening news and if the media attention was intense before, it was nothing compared to what it was now. Willy was mildly amused at the Willy Wonka Fan Clubs that had sprung up - not so much at the Veronica Carmichael groupies that popped up as well.

It was only after the full scope of the investigation of the event that Victor's involvment in the pipe bomb that nearly killed him and Charlie came to light. Only his death prevented prosecution and Willy was satisfied with that even as they both had the occasional nightmare over the incident.

Veronica had divided Victor's assets among the fired workers - giving over management of the various branches of Dolce La Vita to her competition team, much to their satisfaction and her relief.

He jerked himself out of his memories just as Sherman gestured toward him to step forward and present the couple with his binding present – a ceremonial bag of cocoa beans and the flower of a rare orchid which only grew in the heart of the Loompaland Forest.

Veronica smiled at him as he took his place by her side, taking his bare hand into his own.

Her beauty took his breath away and the warmth of her smile chased the lingering shadows from his eyes. The sparkle in her hazel eyes was the fulfillment of one of his fondest wishes - to see her truly happy, healthy, satisfied and most importantly loving him.

The radiant smiles of Tupik-Ra and L.A. as they looked at each other eased his lingering guilt as did the absent way the Oompa Loompa woman caressed the growing lump at her belly. It was after all, the highest portent of a good fruitful marriage for the tribe to go into marriage already expecting a child.

Squeezing Veronica's hand, he let himself smile honestly. After all he had the woman of his dreams on one side, his heir Charlie on the other and the entire Oompa Loompa nation supporting them whatever came next.

Who knows what comes next?

Whatever it was…he was ready.

_ FIN _


End file.
